


August Is the Cruelest Month

by ashotofjac



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Summer Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 21:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14839922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashotofjac/pseuds/ashotofjac
Summary: Eighteen years old and recently graduated from high school, Mike Wheeler is ready to make the most of his last summer with the Party before they each head off to college and their separate ways for the first time ever. Everything about it is bittersweet, everything seeming likethe very lasttime.And then, like a dream, the pretty daughter of Chief Jim Hopper rolls into town for the summer. El Hopper is like nothing Hawkins, Indiana, or Mike, has ever seen: New York-bred, beautiful, smart, and soon, oddly enough, an honorary member of the Party of town outcasts.Beneath the haze of shimmering heat and golden sunshine, Mike and El fall into that first summer love—the kind that makes you remember salted lips and sticky skin and sentiments whispered in hushed breath, no matter how many years try to erase the memories. That first and final love.As summer comes to a close, and disparate futures loom, El and Mike are forced to learn that August is the cruelest month. But time doesn't heal all wounds, and they come to find that a love that strongnevergoes down without a fight.STORY ON HOLD





	1. Hungry Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> **Just for context: Hopper's daughter Sara does not exist. El is his only child. The Upside Down does not exist in this story either.**

The summer she met _him_ , the blackberries were growing wild. They dangled like sin from the untamed bushes that flourished on the outskirts of Hawkins, Indiana, blooming lush, glossy, purple-black. Hop had pulled the Blazer over to the side of the road on the way back from picking her up at the airport, his tires kicking up red dust, to yank a ripe cluster from its bramble.

The blackberries were warm from the glare of a June sun, and when her teeth sheared one’s skin, the taste of tartness exploded on her tongue. From then on, any time she had a piece of blackberry pie—a piece she snagged from the cafeteria at school or crumbling leftovers from her mother’s boredom—she always went back to that day: belting out Guns N’ Roses with her dad in the front seat, the shine of his aviators reflecting her smile back at her, the smoke-and-soot smell of his roaring truck.

Strange, wasn’t it, how the slightest taste of something familiar could conjure memories without fail? One bite of strawberry ice cream or a swig of cheap beer, burnt popcorn at the back of her mouth or smoke on her tongue—that’s all it took. Every single moment of that summer was buried bone-deep, tangled around her veins and swimming through her bloodstream, never to be forgotten. Like a cancer, impossible to be cut out. 

Summertime, eighteen years old, 1989. _Pac-Man_ at The Palace, _Batman_ at the drive-in, french fries and spiked shakes at the back of Benny’s Burgers. Midnight drives in a junky black Marquis with her bare feet propped up on the dash. Fevered kisses beneath hazy sunshine, the murky green waters of the quarry, the big white house that sat at the end of Maple Street. The blanket fort in his basement. 

The warm smell of him on the seats of his car. The dark blue stain where her popsicle had melted on the seatbelt. How many rotations it took to roll her window all the way down. The vicious way the wind ripped at her hair as they drove through his neighborhood. Sugar-sticky skin and silky legs. He liked to run his hands up the backs of her calves, and every single time she had thought no feeling in the world could be better or worse.

She would never forget the way he looked at eighteen years old. Eyes black as an oil slick, that messy hair whose tangles had caught her fingers a thousand times, pale skin that betrayed a flush like the letter A stitched across a harlot’s breast. Lean, soft. Rose petal lips, the kind that girls would drool over and die for.

A negligent sort of beauty, he was _so pretty_ for a boy. Though in true fashion, he’d never realized his power. Was ignorant to what he had, so convinced his habits and hobbies were enough to repel any girl. That had made him even more endearing — heartbreakingly so. 

She hadn’t paid much attention to him the first time she laid eyes on him, sweeping into the little secondhand bookstore on the corner of Main Street in Hawkins. It was only her second day in town, and her first completely alone. The shop was larger inside than it had seemed from the sidewalk, covered floor to ceiling with dark bookshelves that sagged beneath the weight of thousands of books. It smelled faintly of leather and old paper, with only the slightest undertones of coffee and candlewax.

He’d been sitting behind the cashier’s counter, oblivious to the world and swathed in silver-gold sunlight. In the cradle of one hand lay a thick open book; in the other was his chin, the bottom half of his face covered by the fan of his splayed fingers. His eyes were downcast, sweeping left and right with surprising, distracted speed. 

He didn’t even notice when the door slammed shut behind her with a gust of wind, the tiny bell on the doorframe singing her arrival. She ventured inside the small shop with a dancer’s tread leftover from her youth. Besides the boy, there seemed to be no one else here. Silence filled the room, and every creak of the wooden floorboards beneath her weight was a high-pitched scream to her ears. 

She weaved herself through the shelves like a water snake. Where something sparked her eye is where her feet carried her. She set the tips of her fingers against the edge of a leather book and pulled her touch against the entire row, allowing the thrum of soft spines to settle her with peace. Every step deeper into this haven snipped one more inch from the stress she bore on her shoulders, until it was almost sheared away.

She fought against the nagging thoughts that tried crawling out of the recesses of her mind: the slew of cardboard boxes piled into tipsy skyscrapers in her bedroom back in New York, the brilliant shine of her stepfather’s smile when the letter from Stanford had finally come, the pitiful dorm room in California where she would spend the next four years. The cold and bitter loneliness already creeping in at the thought of her faux-freedom. 

She had her entire life planned out for her by her stepfather—one Dr. Martin Brenner, to whom her mother had been married since El was a baby. First, she was going to study pre-med at Stanford and intern with a neurologist who Brenner was friends with in college. Then she would move on to Stanford’s medical school and, after that, join Brenner at his practice back in New York. 

Everything was all tied up with a perfectly neat bow, because she was nothing if not the puppet protégé of the brilliant Dr. Brenner. Or so she’d heard nearly every day since he decided she would follow in his footsteps. 

_Stop_ , she told herself when the tell-tale claustrophobia began to set in.

Pushing away those thoughts, she instead remembered the iron feel of Hop’s arms when he’d gathered her into a bear hug at the airport gate a couple days ago. She thought of the bedroom she would call hers for the summer while she stayed with him, where Will—the quiet son of his fiancée Joyce—normally lived, decorated with homemade artwork and old albums stuck to the walls with thumbtacks. 

She thought of the freedom this summer would bring her— _real freedom_ , not just the facade of it—being away from her mom and Brenner and all their expectations. Just heat and open skies and long, quiet days doing whatever she wanted to do. 

It was the word that caught her eyes first. _LUST_ , printed in big bold letters across the front page in deep aubergine. Below it was the image of a dark, slatted headboard and rumpled white sheets, the comfiest kind of bed where secrets were made. The kind she had never made before. She imagined the sheets were soft to the touch, the slatted wood cool. 

She pulled the book from where it was displayed and studied it closer, from the worn edges of its corners to the yellowed hue of its pages. It had been a well-loved book, obviously. She flipped open its front cover and then its back, tracing her finger over the faint mark of a hand-drawn heart with care.

Any other time she might have convinced herself to put it back. To walk away and find something better to do with her time — more productive, as Brenner would say. But then she remembered her dream of heat and quiet days amidst the air of freedom, and suddenly she found herself marching back toward the front of the shop, _LUST_ in hand. 

Determination nipped at her heels, and her veins thrummed with excitement. Brenner would hate this book. There were no long Latin-borne words nor models showcasing the intricacies of the brain nor any other stale medical information. 

But Brenner wasn’t here. It was the first time in a very long time that El could remember doing anything _for the sheer pleasure of it_. For the rebellion. 

The boy up front was still sitting behind the cashier’s desk when she returned. Only now he had changed positions, his book lain flat across the counter, his elbows bearing all his weight as he leaned over the text. Dark hair spilled over his tilted brow and his lips— _So pink_ , she noticed—were moving. His words were faint, incomprehensible at a distance. But the closer she got, the better she heard. 

“ _What do you fear, lady?_ ” he mouthed in a low, serious breath. She noticed the dark crescent moon scab over the curve of his bottom lip, like he’d busted it.

She opened her mouth before she thought better of it. “ _A cage._ ”

His jerk was violent, and when he set his eyes on hers, she was briefly mesmerized by the sheer _blackness_ of them. She had never seen eyes so dark. Or startled by her. 

“Do you always quote Tolkien to strangers?” she asked. 

His mouth was agape and his lips moved as if forming silent words. He stared at her in equal parts horror and shock. And as the moments ticked by, her skin began to feel tight—like wearing a dress two sizes too small. The silence between them ballooned with discomfort. 

With just the slightest scowl beneath the slant of furrowed brows, El slid her book across the counter. She cleared her throat. “Just this, please.”

The flat tone of her words set something alight in him, and finally he was moving. Clicking buttons on the register, muttering a few numbers. She pushed a twenty toward him and studied the play of his fingers as he sifted through bills and change. 

When he dropped the money into her open hand, his knuckle brushed her palm. The cover of her book sat between them like a glaring neon sign. 

“Do you want a bag?” 

She glanced up at him. His voice was deeper than she had expected. She had imagined something light, airy, childlike even. But this boy— _Michael_ , his name tag read—sounded like a man, his voice rich with a deep melody. 

“No,” she said, “that’s okay.” 

He nodded, eyes purposely darting away from her, and yanked the receipt from the printer before sliding it between the first two pages of her book. In his hand the word _LUST_ was dwarfed beneath long fingers. The tension seemed to cloak him, the lines of his shoulders and neck taut. 

Suddenly, absurdly, she felt a twinge of guilt, as if it were somehow her fault this strange boy was discomfited. “Thank you,” she said when he handed over the book, its receipt wagging like a tongue. 

As she turned and walked away, she could feel his eyes on her back like two hooks sunk into her spine, peeling away her skin. It was hard not to look over her shoulder, just to check to see if she was right. She forced her eyes forward, one foot in front of the other, until she pushed open the door. The bell’s song was a shattering sound in the previous silence. 

She was nearly out the door when she swore she heard the long woosh of bated breath finally let free.

* * *

Hot copper filled his mouth in a puddle and coated his tongue in salt. The metallic scab stung where he sucked his lip, thumping in time with his heartbeat. 

The busted lip was only five days old, a farewell present from Troy Harrington himself on their graduation day. Clad in the cheap blue robes of Hawkins High, Troy had approached Mike at the exact moment his parents wandered off, spinning some poorly-acted parting speech about how unfortunate it was he would no longer be around (in his words) to torment his favorite losers.

Mike wanted to tell him, _Don’t worry, Troy, I am almost positive you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon._ He’d wanted to give Troy Harrington one last thing to burn on when he shuffled home to mediocrity, something to stew over for years to come. 

But then the elbow had slammed right into his lip— _One to remember me by, Frogface_ —and his chance was gone. 

He wondered if the pretty girl had noticed it. _Of course she did, you idiot,_ he thought as he jerked his car into park right in front of the Byers house. She had probably thought he was some gross, gawking loser, and really, could he blame her? He’d been struck dumb the moment she spoke to him, quoting Tolkien so casually that all he’d been able to do was stop and _stare_. 

And stare, he had. She was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen: golden tan, heart-shaped face, amber eyes, loose honey-brown hair. She’d worn a baggy t-shirt that fell off one shoulder, and her long legs were visible beneath a pair of cutoff shorts. The book she bought had been called _LUST_. 

She wasn’t from Hawkins, there was no doubt about it. If she had been, Mike would have known. Gossip ran fast around their small town, and his mother would definitely have mentioned someone that pretty moving into Hawkins. 

Folded into his own mind, Mike hadn’t even realized that he had walked all the way up the Byers’ porch, his sleeping bag in hand. That is, until the front door swung open and Max reached out to poke at his lip.

“You’re bleeding.”

Mike flinched back and side-stepped her into the house. “Yeah, yeah.”

Inside the Byers house, the air was warm and smelled of hot pizza and chocolate. _A New Hope_ was playing on the grainy television in the living room, Dustin sat just two feet away enraptured by Luke Skywalker. Will was in the kitchen, pulling a tray of steaming brownies from the oven while Lucas watched on. 

Max was still on him like a shadow, even when Mike moved into the kitchen. “Is that still from graduation?” She bent to get a better angle of his lip.

Lucas glanced up at her voice, and his eyes immediately flicked down Mike’s face. “Troy is such a douchebag.”

“We should break in to Troy’s house as payback,” Max offered lightly, plucking a corner brownie from the tray with bare fingers and plopping herself on Lucas’ lap. 

“No.” Mike grimaced and fell into a dining table chair.

“Then we can just TP it? Maybe throw some eggs into the mix. I know for sure I have bologna at home.”

“No, Max.”

“Slash his tires? I have that switchblade from my dad.”

“No, Max.”

“We could take his car for a little spin in the mud pits then, like we did with Billy’s back in 9th grade?”

“ _No, Max._ ”

Max’s ocean blue eyes finally narrowed. She looked annoyed, but annoyed in a way that was _for_ Mike’s benefit rather than at him. “Then _what_? You’re leaving me with very few options for revenge here, Wheeler. I can only be so imaginative.”

Mike leaned over to rest his head in his palm. “Troy’s a prick, but the risk outweighs the satisfaction of anything we could do to him. Or have you forgotten who Will’s mom is engaged to?”

Max rolled her eyes. “Oh, Hopper would never find out it was us.”

“Hopper wouldn’t find out _what_ exactly?” Mrs. Byers suddenly strolled into the kitchen, pinning an earring in place. She wore a navy blue blouse and dark jeans, a string of fake pearls around her neck. Mike had never seen her so dressed up. 

“Nothing at all! Where are you going all dolled up?” Max asked, changing the subject. “You look _hot_.”

Joyce smiled. “Hopper’s taking me on a date tonight.”

“Where _is_ Hop?” Mike piped up. Hopper was a regular fixture around the Byers house now, having moved in a few months ago when he and Joyce got engaged. 

“He took El to the store. They should be back soon. But don’t worry, I’m sure she won’t interrupt your camping fun.”

Mike was lost. “El?”

Joyce glanced up. “Oh, Eleanor. Hopper’s daughter. She’s staying with us for the summer.”

_Eleanor_. It was an unfortunate name and Mike’s imagination went rampant conjuring up the unfortunate face that probably went with it. Chubby cheeks, likely thirteen or fourteen years old, silver braces tracking her teeth. Maybe she had pigtails and wore pink overalls. 

“You guys should invite her to hang out with you sometime,” Joyce continued. “She’s eighteen, just like you, and I’m sure she’d love some company this summer. She’s never been to Hawkins before.”

“Son of a _bitch_!” Dustin suddenly roared from the living room. A moment later he stomped into the kitchen, roughly pulling a brownie into his hands. “The bastard killed Obi-Wan.”

Max heaved an annoyed sigh. “You’ve seen that movie a hundred times. You knew he was going to die.”

“Yeah?” Dustin pouted. “Well it hurts every time. I need to get my mind off this. When are we starting the fire?”

“Be careful tonight,” Joyce cut in. “Hop and I will be home late, so you need to make sure you put the fire out before you go to sleep. I’ll leave the backdoor unlocked in case you’d rather sleep inside. But remember, only Jonathan’s room is available. Eleanor is using Will’s room for the summer.”

“I call Castle Byers!” Max suddenly jumped up and ran to the backdoor, knowing full well she could outrace all of them. Everyone but Lucas, that is. 

“Hell no!” Lucas seemed to blur out of the kitchen, following behind her. Lucas was the former star of their high school’s basketball team, and years of conditioning had made him far and away the fastest of their party. Not that there was any real competition from anyone but Max. 

“Castle Byers is named after me,” Will was shouting as he stepped through the door and scurried down the porch steps. His voice sounded tiny when he yelled, “I should get dibs.”

Dustin and Mike followed dutifully behind, knowing full well they’d all be sleeping beneath the stars and mosquitoes tonight. It was a tradition the Party had, camping in the woods behind Will’s house at the start of every summer. And this summer was the most important because come August, they were going their separate ways for the first time ever. 

Will had been accepted to the Tisch School of the Arts in New York City. He was going to move in with Jonathan, who was nearly finished with his degree at NYU and lived in a cramped apartment in Brooklyn. 

Max was heading back west to California, where she had lived before moving to Hawkins in the fifth grade. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life yet, but she knew that whatever it was, she wanted to do it in California. 

Lucas was following her. They’d been dating for nearly six years now, and it was no surprise to anyone they were staying together. He’d gotten a basketball scholarship at USC, and would be only a car ride away from where Max was going to live with her dad. 

Mike and Dustin were sticking together, close to home. They’d both gotten into Indiana State University, and were going to room together in the dorms. Dustin wanted to go into research, hoping to become the next big discoverer, while Mike was stuck between science and writing. 

It would be a bittersweet summer, the one to end them all. After August, they would still keep in touch and see each other from time to time—they were a party, after all—but nothing would ever be the same. It was a summer they needed to cherish. 

As they approached the woods, the smell of smoke became strong. Max was bent over a tiny campfire, stoking it to life with a long stick. Mismatched folding chairs were positioned in a circle around it, and Jonathan’s old boom box lay on a blanket a few feet away, softly whirring from the turn of Will’s fingers as he attempted to find a station. 

Mike threw his sleeping bag down in the same spot he’d been sleeping for the past seven summers: a little place beneath a heavy-limbed tree that was carpeted with thick moss and dirt. 

Tucked inside his sleeping bag was a tall glass bottle of some rank beer. He’d found it rummaging through Nancy’s room. Though she no longer lived at home, she came back every summer and often hid her alcohol in the back corner of her closet. 

Mike pulled it out and took a seat in a plaid plastic chair. It squeaked beneath his weight. He took a swig and grimaced at the warm metallic taste, handing it over when Lucas came to sit beside him and held out an expectant hand. Eventually the whole party took their seats, and the bottle began to pass around. 

Dustin, however, shook his head when it came his way. He was holding a blanket over his lap like a baby; Will frowned at him. “What is that?”

With a smirk, Dustin pulled back the blanket. “For our last summer.” The rum shone like liquid amber before the play of firelight. 

Will gaped in awe. “Whoa,” he breathed, “how’d you get ahold of that?” 

“I have my ways,” Dustin said nonchalantly, twisting the cap off with a flourish. 

Mike and Max met eyes from across the fire. _A.K.A. Steve Harrington_ , they seemed to think at one another, Dustin’s strange best friend-slash-former babysitter. 

“I wasn’t able to swipe any from Hopper’s stash without him noticing,” Will said, almost regretfully. “ _But_ , Jonathan did get us something before he went back to New York two days ago.” He tore away a stack of pillows behind his chair—pillows they’d use tonight as they slept beneath the spread of starlight—and revealed a shining six-pack of Sam Adams. 

“Nice!” Lucas got up eagerly. “Thank you, Jonathan.”

“Let’s toast.” Max leaned forward and easily plucked a beer from its plastic ring. 

Will pulled off his own, and handed off the rest to Dustin, Lucas, and Mike. The can was warm in his hand, and Mike knew it was going to taste like sparkling piss. Still, he raised his can to the others with a soft _tink_ , and spoke: “To the Party and to a great summer.”

“The best summer of our lives!” Dustin cried out. 

The night passed on from there in hazy, disjointed segments that sparked in Mike’s mind like surrealist paintings. Dustin and Max shotgunning beers, side-eyeing each other as Will counted the seconds and Lucas egged them on. A half-full rum bottle making its way through the Party, Mike’s tongue coated in bitter heat. Will tearing pieces off his pizza and feeding it to a hyper Chester who, in turn, farted when he sat on Max’s lap. Dustin relaying his “Steve Lessons” to the group, to their eternal amusement. 

Real life was forgotten and all Mike knew was the here and now with his lifelong friends. They hadn’t even noticed Mrs. Byers and the Chief come back from their date, nor when the house went black hours later. 

When their eyes got heavy, they killed the fire and moved to their sleeping spots, spreading out their beds as they had for years now: Max and Lucas just outside the Castle (no one actually slept inside the Castle, no matter how they argued), Will just beyond them, with a lazy Chester snuggled against him, then Dustin and then Mike, all in a malformed C-shape.

They spoke in whispers of memories past, epic ten-hour campaigns and camping trips and the one time Max and Lucas had tried kissing with braces and ended up locked together for three hours. They talked about their hopes for college and promised to always keep in touch no matter the distance, and Dustin waxed poetic about Jennifer Hayes’ eyes, drunkenly shedding that Steve Harrington-induced playboy bravado and resuming the well-meaning air of the best friend Mike had always known. 

Eventually the spread of moonlight and the sounds of wind whistling through the trees lulled them all to sleep. All but Mike, who seemed to exist just between the planes of consciousness and unconsciousness. Warm and relaxed, but his mind going through the motions of thought: _I hope Dustin gets to kiss Jennifer Hayes just once before we leave for State, at the least so I don't have to hear him pine after her anymore . . . I hope the summer doesn’t fly by . . . I wonder if Max and Lucas will get married . . . she would definitely skateboard down the aisle . . . I have to piss so badly._

The stinging in his bladder forced Mike fully awake. He thought of all the rum he’d had and the beers he’d chugged, the warm liquid filling his belly and- 

_Fuck_. As quietly as he could manage, Mike slipped from his sleeping bag. The night air was brisk, though the smell of smoke still lingered heavily. The Byers house was blanketed in total darkness, the only light being the thin silver moon above. 

Mike blinked several times and started to make his way through the woods. There was no way he was risking sneaking into the house to use the bathroom. If the Chief caught him, he’d smell the alcohol on Mike’s breath and likely make an example of him to the group by calling his parents. Or worse. 

He’d have to use Nature’s Toilet instead. 

He tripped over a few roots here and there, and stumbled into a few of the bigger trees. Once, he bit his own lip to silence a cry, and Troy’s last present to him stretched open again and filled his mouth with hot blood for a second time that day. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Too drunk for this shit.” 

Mike finally stopped when he was far enough away from the Castle, and opened the button fly of his pajama pants and boxers. The stream of his piss hitting the ground was the only true sound in the woods, but the smell of smoke and trees clogged his nose. 

When he was finished, he pulled himself back into his pants and began to button up. A twig snapped somewhere behind him. 

“Do you always piss in front of strangers?” The voice was one Mike had heard before; soft, teasing, confident, _warm_. 

His heart flew into his throat and his stomach dropped to his toes. Mike blinked wildly against the darkness, searching for a form among the crowded trees. He found her almost immediately. It was unmistakably a girl; several inches shorter than his own height, slim, casually leaning against an old oak whose barked was peeled back in some places. 

The cherry end of her cigarette glowed like blood—like the blood slipping down his chin—and a ribbon of smoke unfurled from her shaded mouth. The darkness masked her features, but Mike knew at once, like that feeling you get when you’re just completely _sure_ of something, when your instincts are firing on all cylinders, who it was.

“ _Y-you_ ,” he stammered out, hurriedly buttoning his pants all the way up. The word was almost accusatory and childish in a simple way, and Mike cringed, splitting his lip even wider. 

The girl shoved the cigarette against the trunk of the tree she leaned against. Its sizzle was quick and low. “Me,” she agreed. The silence stretched between them uncomfortably, like before in the bookstore.

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” she answered. “Well, at least for the summer I do.”

It came to him lightning-quick, the pieces stitched together. “You’re Eleanor . . .”

“I am.” When she stepped closer, a shard of moonlight cut through the trees and bathed her face in silver. Her grimace was obvious. “But I go by El. Eleanor is too . . .”

“Lame,” he offered up without thinking. 

Her brows rose in amused surprise. “Uh, thanks?”

“I’m so sorry.” Mike was horrified, the taste of beer so bitter with the swirl of blood on his lips. “I’ve been drinking and I can’t control my mouth on the best of days. I didn’t mean that. Also, please don’t tell your dad.”

“That you insulted me or that you’ve been drinking?”

Mike’s mouth parted, and a red worm of blood crawled down his chin. He shoved his wrist across it. “Both?”

Her laugh was lovely and low, and it sent a warmth through his chest. Or maybe that was the alcohol. “Relax, I’m only teasing. I won’t tell if you won’t, Michael." She held up her stub of a cigarette. 

He blinked in shock; it was the name that got him. "How do you know my name?" No one but his own mother called him Michael, and that was usually when he was in trouble or she wanted something. And he definitely had not said more than a handful of embarrassing words to her in the bookstore, none of which were his name.

"You had a name tag, before."

_I am such an idiot._ “Oh, right. Well, um, everyone actually calls me Mike. Not Michael.”

“Mike.” She tested his name. It had never sounded so lovely before. 

“I’m Will’s friend,” he quickly added. 

El smiled and ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah, I figured. Otherwise I would probably be scared right now.”

“Right.” He chuckled self-consciously. “Um, also, sorry for peeing in front of you. I, uh, didn’t know you were there, I promise.”

El’s laugh made his throat feel tight. “Don’t worry about it. I should’ve told you I was here. But truth be told, you surprised me as much I probably surprised you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and in his drunken stupor, he just stared. At the way her messy hair brushed down her shoulder, the way the moonlight bleached her honey golden skin pale and her eyes black. She was even prettier than he remembered from the bookstore. 

How had he not connected the dots before, when Joyce mentioned Hopper’s daughter? Hawkins was so small, it should have been obvious. Maybe he was dumber than he realized, maybe getting into State was a mis-

“Well.” Her tone was awkward, as it had been in the bookstore before when he’d stared at her just as he was now. _Fuck, Wheeler, get it together._ She cleared her throat and pushed off the tree. “I think I’m gonna go to bed now.”

With her back turned to him, something inside him snapped and he began to panic. Regardless of the fact that Will was one of his best friends, and she was staying with him for the summer, for some reason Mike thought, _This is your only chance, say something else, don’t screw it up._

“It was nice to meet you, El.”

She stopped where she stood, but didn't turn back. In better light, Mike saw that she was still wearing the clothes from before, the t-shirt still hanging off her frame and the shorts showcasing her long, thin legs. She wasn’t just pretty; she was beautiful. 

Then she looked over her shoulder, and smiled a crescent moon smile that made him go cold sober for half a heartbeat. “Night, Mike.”

He felt more than heard himself reply, even as she was walking back to the house. “Night, El.” Her name was like sugar on his tongue, but it tasted tart, sweet, a little bit sour. Like blackberries straight from the vine.


	2. Hot in the City

Sunlight spilled like liquid gold across a blushing sky. The sun was just half an eye on the horizon, winking in and out of sight with her every move. Where its light shifted through the cotton-ball clouds, shadows from the rays were thrown like giants into the heavens so that each cloud wore a crown. 

An Indiana sunrise, El decided, was beautiful. Back in the city, the waking sun was always obscured by silver and steel skyscrapers reaching into the sky, the sunlight shaded by a dome of smoke and fog and technicolor lights. And New York summers were wet and oppressive, closing in in a thick blanket of heat.

Hawkins was different. Though it bore its fair share of June warmth, it was a different sort. It surrounded her in a comfortable embrace, relieved every so often by a cool breeze that ran off the trees. The cotton shorts she wore fluttered against her skin with the touch of every zephyr.

Her walk was a short one, just a little over half a mile left. Where others might have dreaded such a trek, El loved to be on her feet, having been born and raised in New York. Her mother had always said that when El was a baby, she’d kicked her legs so hard and so often that it was impossible to keep a blanket on her body or shoes on her feet. You’ll be an explorer, she promised. 

And true enough, El walked wherever she could whenever she had the chance. Across the Upper West Side where their brownstone seemed perpetually bathed in golden sunlight, around the tourist-clogged bustle of Hell’s Kitchen, through the riotous color of Chinatown. She had loved to come home stinking of fried food, if only to see the twist of Brenner’s mouth when the smell filled up their pristine home. 

Her stomach twisted in hunger. The single diner in Hawkins, and “best damn burgers in the state,” according to Hop, was just a mile from Joyce’s house. He’d promised to take her for breakfast that morning, have a little overdue father-daughter time, introduce her to his old friends and show her around town. But then the radio he kept on his hip had buzzed to life and he was off to settle some town dispute over squash crops. 

_It’s a straight shot_ , he’d told her. _Pass the fire station and the liquor store. If you hit the pharmacy, you’ve gone too far._

The liquor store had come and gone at least five minutes ago. Now she was alone on a long stretch of bumpy road, walled in on either side by woods crowded with oaks and pines and skinny saplings. 

The strong smell of the trees brought back memories of the other night. The taste of smoke on her tongue, the clumsy tread of a drunken boy named Mike. Despite the darkness, his red blush had been unmistakable. It made him even lovelier, she’d realized in the moment, all porcelain skin and black glass eyes.

She kept replaying the moment he said her name. _It was nice to meet you, El._ She liked the way it sounded on his lips, his tongue wrapping around the end like licking a lollipop. Sugar-sweet. 

She wondered how close of friends he was with Will, and if he came over to the house often. Hop had said their friend group was having a camp-out that night, some tradition of theirs since they were children; surely that necessitated a bond.

 _Why do you even care?_ she asked herself, and the question left her sober. Truly, there was no reason for her to obsess over the life of a stranger; she didn’t know him from any other boy that had ever passed her by, nor did he know her. He was just something new in a sea of change. 

El shook her mind free of him like a dog would flies, and continued walking. Only minutes later, the smell hit her. A maelstrom of old grease, fried potatoes, bacon fat, and musty heat. The diner seemed to appear almost at once, a magic trick conjured by her distracted mind. 

It was a squat, low-roofed building made of grey granite and dark shingles. Its sign was yellowed with age, reading Benny’s Burgers in bright red cursive letters. The parking lot was just a big square of unpaved road, rough with dirt and rocks. The only cars there were a big brown truck whose body was eaten through with rust, a little white car streaked with dust, and a sleek blue Camaro with a white racing stripe. 

When she pushed through the door, the heavy scent of frying oil smacked her in the face. The sound of sizzling grease danced through the air, only slightly overwhelmed by the grind of electric guitars blaring from the radio. 

The diner was bisected by a modest dining room with a dozen or so tables and booths, and a large kitchen that was shaded by a protective wall. Set into the wall, right behind the register, was a window that smoked like a chimney. Through it, El could make out a bear of a man flipping pancakes. 

A waitress in ratty denim shorts and a stained t-shirt stopped in front of her, popping gum between two fire engine-red lips. “Take a seat, honey, I’ll be right with you.”

“Uh, actually,” El said, “can I just have two waffles to go?” Maybe she’d find a nice spot shaded by the trees and watch the rest of the sun rise as she ate her breakfast.

“Sure thing, sweetheart. It’ll be a few minutes.” She leaned into the window and shouted, “Double waffles to go!”

El glanced across the room for a place to sit and wait. The tables were gleaming white linoleum, matched with flimsy white chairs, and the booths were crimson leather, most of which were peeling back to reveal the yellow stuffing underneath. 

She was just about to take a seat at the cleanest of the tables when she heard her name yelled across the room. “El!” A rough, startled tremor rocked through her body. El looked around in confusion, wondering at once if she had only imagined the sound of her name. 

But then her eyes landed on a booth set into the back right corner, shaded by the high-backed seats. Will’s overgrown bowl-cut leaning over the side of the table was unmistakable, as were the big dark eyes she had come to grow slightly fond of over the last few days. He waved his hand almost shyly, beckoning her over. 

She walked to him slowly, passing through the ghost town of empty tables and chairs. Her shoes squeaked on the checkered floor with every footstep. When she got closer, she recognized the crown of fiery red hair sat opposite Will. Max, she had heard them call her, the only girl in Will’s friend group. 

El knew none of his friends well, had seen only a couple at the house since their camp-out, but what she knew of Max, she liked. She was pretty; fair skin dotted with pale red freckles, vivid blue eyes, a river of beautiful, flaming hair. She was never without a scowl, a smirk, or a skateboard, and her snark was dangerously quick. Especially against her dark-skinned boyfriend Lucas and a perpetually amused Hop. 

When El reached their booth, Will was smiling. “Come to try Benny’s legendary breakfast?” His eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky, almost as if he knew something she didn’t. 

She nodded. “Yeah, Hop was supposed to come with me this morning, but he was called into work. So,” she looked back at the kitchen momentarily, “I just ordered something to go.”

“Do you want to sit with us while you wait?” Will asked. “We only just ordered.”

El didn’t know why she hesitated. Will was a sweet boy, always with a smile to give her, never unkind. His was a comfortable presence, quiet and soothing. She liked to watch him paint on the porch as his favorite music played on the radio, and see his art come to life. 

“Sure,” she eventually said. “Why not?” She slid into the booth beside him where he scooted over, glancing up only to see Max studying her with those serious blue eyes. 

“Oh,” Will chirped. “Sorry. El, this is one of my best friends, Max. Max, obviously this is El. El’s actually moving to California in August too.”

Max’s red brows arched, intrigued. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, red hair brushing the tabletop. “Rad. Where?”

“Stanford.” El felt suddenly cold and uncomfortable, as if just the ghost of Brenner’s hold weighed on her shoulder. Like a pitcher of ice water had been poured down the length of her insides. 

“Wow.” Max whistled low. “You must be, like, really smart then.”

El lifted one shoulder, almost self-conscious. Perfection was something forced on her throughout her entire life, drilled into her until it became _a part_ of her rather than just a habit. Brenner expected nothing less from her, nor would he ever. There would be nothing but the best for his mentee. 

“What about you?” El asked, eager to turn the attention away from the topic of herself, like tilting the light of a lamp elsewhere because it was too hot. “Where are you going to school, Max?”

“I’m not actually. I’ll figure out school later; right now I just want to be back home. I moved here from Pismo Beach in fifth grade, after my parents got divorced. But my dad still lives there, and I’m going to live with him.” 

El knew what it was like to miss your father, had spent her entire life living away from him. Apart from his summer visits to New York, El’s relationship with Hop was stretched over letters and phone calls. She loved her mom of course, but she always felt like she was missing something with Hop gone. 

“And don’t forget, Lucas is going to USC,” Will added slyly, “so the lovebirds can be close.” He grinned a Cheshire grin. 

Max rolled her eyes and threw a balled-up straw wrapper at his head, missing by half a foot. “Shut up,” she muttered, but her smile was pleased nonetheless. 

“Order’s ready!” a shrill voice suddenly shouted. The three of them turned their heads. The waitress stood at the cash register expectantly, still smacking her gum, while a white styrofoam box marked with a giant “W” sat before her. 

“Well, that’s my cue.” El pushed out of the booth seat, frowning at the way the leather tore at her exposed thighs. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“El, wait.” Will touched her elbow. He cast an almost negligible glance at Max before he looked up at El again. “We’re all going to the theater tonight to see the new Ghostbusters movie. Would you wanna go with us?”

El’s lips parted in surprise. Though Will was nice, he’d never indicated that he wanted to be friends with her. And she hadn’t expected him to either, but she couldn’t deny that the offer felt nice, no matter the intention. “Oh, I don’t-”

“You should come,” Max interrupted, giving her a tilted half-smile. El saw California in her ocean blue eyes. “Ghostbusters will probably be _super_ lame, but it’s really fun to throw popcorn at our friend Dustin’s head while he’s trying to concentrate on the movie.”

Will chuckled and shook his head, but didn’t correct her. They both stared up at her, waiting with wide eyes and what she thought were sincere smiles. She’d almost forgotten what sincerity looked like, what _freedom_ to be young looked like. That rebellious part of her, the one that lived to spite Brenner, flared. “Yeah.” And then more confidently, “ _Yeah._ Sure. I’ll go, that actually sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Nice!” Will’s smile had grown impossibly wide, and El wondered why he even cared to expel effort on her when they were just strangers. Or if he was only doing this out of obligation to his mother because she was engaged to El’s dad. 

“The movie’s at 7,” Will was saying excitedly. “But we’ll leave at 6:30. I’m taking my mom’s car, and you can ride with me.”

“And you can meet the rest of the Party,” Max added. “Lucas, Dustin, Mike. They’re way less fun than me and Will—in fact, they’re _huge_ weenies—but they’re still cool.”

Somewhere, out of body, El heard the pair of friends laughing together, but her head—like a stuffed hive—was filled with the buzzing, honeyed thoughts of Mike. Shaggy sex hair, long legs, blushing cheeks, full lips, a darkened theater. Maybe she didn't have to obsess over his life, but she could definitely appreciate the view.

She lowered her eyes and spread a soft smile. “Can’t wait.”

* * *

Roaring winds tore through the tousle of Mike’s lazy curls as he raced down Cornwallis Road. It was a hot black night in Hawkins, the very earth seeming to have a heartbeat. The woods that passed by him were an inky blur, and the sky was a dark blanket sprinkled with stars. 

The movie theater would be packed tonight, he knew. With seemingly nothing to do in Hawkins but eat and watch movies, if you weren’t doing the former, you were doing the latter. And the Party had been looking forward to this night for months: the premiere of Ghostbusters II. 

And of course, as the universe would have it, Mike was late. He’d done everything on time, showering and brushing his teeth with an almost thoughtless speed. Then he’d thrown on whatever his hand touched in an effort to beat the clock. Some dark pants, cuffed at the hem, dirty Converses whose better days had been almost two years ago, and a plain white t-shirt. 

He’d barely escaped the house tonight. It seemed the older he got, the more attached his mother grew, until it was to the point that every time he left the house at least half-decent, she was begging for a picture. 

“Oh, just one more, Michael,” she’d pleaded. “You look so handsome!” No matter how much he whined and begged for the contrary, she always ended up clicking away with the camera until he felt like he could take no more. 

“My handsome boy,” she’d cooed as he edged toward the front door. _Click._ “You’re all grown up.” _Click._ Her eyes grew glassy. “Pretty soon you’ll be moved out.” _Click._ “And then married.” The sound of his dad's snores echoed through the house. 

Mike had groaned in frustration, twisting the lock on the front door. “I think you skipped a few steps, Mom. And I _really_ need to go.” 

She had taken a half dozen more pictures before he was able to escape, and by the time he was on the road the numbers on his watch were mocking him. If he was late tonight and made the Party—but more importantly, _Dustin_ —miss the premiere of Ghostbusters, he knew he would never hear the end of it. It would be four years of consistent harping and needling and reminding of that time Mike screwed it all up, and to top it off, it'd be contained within the small walls of their tiny State dorm room. And Mike could not handle a perpetually pouting Dustin, so he raced through town like a demon, hoping against all hell that he made it in time. 

The time read 6:48 PM when the theater came into view. The Hawkins Theater was a bright spot on an otherwise lightless night. Its sign was limned in fat golden bulbs, and its black letters were crooked. The G of Ghostbusters slanted to the left and the second S was entirely missing, reading Ghostbuster 2. The parking lot was packed, leaving Mike to park on the slope of a small hill to the side of the theater. 

He walked toward the entrance with a stiff gait, waiting for Dustin's tsunami of bitching to hit him any moment like a bomb in wartime. Beneath the arch of the blinding sign was a smattering of people waiting in line for tickets, many he recognized from high school: a few basketball players, some cheerleaders, the kids who had taken up the mantle of the AV club. 

But one person in particular was noticeable above all the rest. Mike stared in horror. The boy's coiffed, curly hair gave him an extra two inches of height, stiff with product. He wore a tan jumpsuit with a black pack strapped to his back, its hose looped around his belt. The patch on his shirt read STANTZ. 

“Holy _shit_ , what happened to you?” Mike breathed. He barely noticed Lucas beside Dustin, wearing normal clothing and an embarrassed frown. 

Dustin scowled. “First of all, you're late. Where the hell have you been? Secondly, it’s called showing appreciation for the franchise. The movie starts in _ten minutes_ , Mike. And this,” he waved a ticket in Mike’s face, snagging it on his busted lip, “is yours. I bought it for you before they sold out, now let’s go!” 

“Wait, where are Will and Max?” Mike asked, running to keep up with Dustin as he shot like a bullet inside the theater. 

“They’re saving us seats,” Dustin yelled over his shoulder. The volume of his voice captured a group of girls’ attention where they waited in line at the concession stand; they began pointing and giggling, and Mike had never wanted to throttle Dustin more than for having the audacity to bring out his seventh-grade Halloween costume. 

When the usher caught sight of Dustin, he muttered, “Oh my God.” 

Dustin was panting loudly, and sweat glistened like crystal droplets on his temple. “Three for Ghostbusters II.” He slapped a fistful of crumpled movie tickets into the usher's hand, seeming to vibrate in eagerness as the tickets were torn. 

“Turn left,” the usher said, his breath catching as Dustin pushed past him, deaf to all. “Theater four.” 

“This way,” Dustin called back authoritatively, while Lucas and Mike followed behind like ducklings. He raced down the hallway, his pack bumping against his back comically. Every person he passed by stared after him in shock. When he reached their theater, he propped open the door and waved his hand around. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” 

Mike and Lucas ducked through the open door, Dustin following behind as he muttered angrily to himself. 

“He’s been like this all night,” Lucas griped in a low voice. His face was lit by a trailer playing onscreen, his eyes like colored marbles. “He hasn’t let up once. Not even when he met El.” 

Mike’s heart stuttered. For half a second, anxiety took hold of his throat and he was rooted in place as the crowded theater came into view. “El?” he whispered. 

Lucas glanced at him in confusion. “Yeah? Hopper’s daughter. Will invited her tonight.” He pointed up, and then Mike saw her. She sat between Will and Max, both of whom were leaning over her to whisper to each other. 

“Keep up!” Dustin hissed as he passed by. 

_What is she doing here?_ he thought wildly even as he climbed the stairs robotically. His heartbeat picked up, painfully so. The closer they got, the better he could make her out. Bare legs, a little white sundress, wavy hair piled into a mess on top of her head, tendrils falling into her face. 

Will smiled when he saw them. “Hey, guys.” Dustin and Lucas scooted past them to the two seats on the right of Max. Only one empty seat was left, beside Will. Just an arm’s reach away from her. 

“Mike,” Will was saying as Mike slowly approached. “This is Hopper’s daughter, El. El, this is my friend, Mike.” 

_We’ve already met_ , he almost said. He slid into the empty seat, but El’s face was still perfectly visible. He met her eyes across Will and her cat smile struck him mute. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mike,” she told him over the sound of the trailer onscreen, her words brimming with something he could not name. 

Mike found himself smiling, albeit shakily, back. “It's nice to meet you too, El.” His heartbeat was shaking his throat, but his chest swelled oddly in pleasure. He wasn’t sure why, but he liked it; their little secret. 

Mike sat back in his seat as his friends whispered amongst themselves, oblivious to his deceit. His skin seemed to tingle from being _this_ close to El again, and when the theater lights dimmed, it only seemed to make it worse. Even as the movie began—a movie he and his friends had been dying to see for months—he could not concentrate. Didn’t even feel compelled to. It was as if her very presence sucked every desire out of his body like a succubus, until all he could think about, or even _want_ , was her. 

The hour and 50 minutes that the movie lasted was, to Mike, pure and utter torture. The characters were lifeless on the screen, barely able to hold his gaze for two seconds before he was glancing back down to watch the way El moved. The shift of her hips in her seat, the cross and uncross of her ankles, the play of her fingers against her bare knee. 

For one wild moment, he’d even considered faking ill. _Dustin might be pissed, but I can handle that_ , he’d told himself. Anything to get away and get rid of the sick thrill bubbling in his stomach. Being near her again felt like the drop of a rollercoaster after the steepest climb. He’d never felt excitement like this, something so terrible yet so exhilarating. He wondered if it was spelled all over his face. 

Only when the movie was finished did he feel like he could finally breathe a little lighter. They filed out of the theater, caught in the stream of other moviegoers, until they were passed out of the mouth of the entrance. The front of the theater was packed with a crowd of people, waiting to go in and just coming out. Around them was the buzz of those who’d just left the movie. 

“I thought the first one was better,” one guy said to his friend as they passed by. 

“No way!” the friend replied, throwing his hands up. His voice was trailing off as he preached about Mood Slime. 

The Party congregated at the doors, but Mike was hyper-aware of where El lingered near Will. He glanced up, feeling as if he were about to dive off a plane, and found her already looking at him. She gave him a small smile and looked away, but the damage was done. His heart pounded within the confines of his chest. 

Dustin slapped his hands together. He was smiling so wide his teeth showed, and pure joy lit up his eyes. “Well that, my friends, was a complete success. And to keep the ball rolling, I think we should go to the arcade. I have a shit ton of quarters burning a hole in my pocket.” 

“I’m surprised you have _room_ for quarters in that getup,” Max remarked dryly. “But, yeah, I’m down to play some Dig Dug.” 

“And I’m down to beat you in some Dig Dug,” Lucas countered with a cheeky grin. 

“I’m in too!” Will agreed excitedly. “I heard the Palace just got the Pac-Man machine in!” 

They looked to Mike, hopeful. He sighed. “I can’t tonight, guys.” 

“Aw, does Karen want you to go home so you can check in?” Dustin stuck out his lip in a mock-pout. Dustin had had a crush on Mike’s mom for as long as he could remember, and loved to call her Karen to piss Mike off. 

Mike rolled his eyes, already tired. “No, you idiot. I have the morning shift at the bookstore, and I can’t be out all night.” 

“Fine,” Dustin said, “but you’ll be missing out.” 

No one expected her voice, and Mike saw Dustin’s head snap to El, as if surprised she knew how to speak. “Actually,” she cut in, peering at Mike like she was gauging him. “I’m getting tired too. I don’t think I’m gonna go.” 

Will’s entire body seemed to deflate, though he kept his tone light. “Oh, okay. Sure, then we’ll just go back to the house.” 

Mike didn’t know what made him do it—was he a masochist? he wondered. Surely no person would put themselves through the pleasure of pain if they weren’t. And he knew, could feel it in his bones, that this idea would be agonizing in the very best way. 

“I can take you home,” he heard himself say to her, as if he were not in control of his own body. “If you want. So Will can still go to the arcade.” 

The Party seemed to frown together in unified confusion. Lucas and Dustin stared at him as if he slapped them across the face, Max wore a suspicious smirk, and Will seemed surprised but pleased. 

“Really?” Will asked hopefully. Mike held El’s eyes, trying to dissect her every expression for some semblance of understanding as to what was going on inside her head. “El, do you mind?” Will asked her in the silence. 

She looked at him and smiled. “Of course not. You shouldn’t have to miss out just because I’m tired.” Her eyes cut to Mike and for a moment he glimpsed a small glint of delight that he could not decipher. “I’ll go with Mike.” 

The consequences of his actions seemed to rush in all at once, his stomach plummeting down his body and the feeling of motion sickness falling over him in waves. “Alright,” he intoned, “well, my car’s over there.” He nodded to their right, where darkness shaded the cars. “I’ll, um, see you guys later.” 

He ignored the odd looks his friends threw him and turned to walk his death march. He felt more than heard El follow, her presence sparking fire down his spine. _I’m an idiot_ , he thought to himself, _if I can’t focus on a movie, I won’t be able to focus on the fucking road._ He shoved his shaking fists into his pockets and stole a glance at El walking in silence beside him. 

She sensed his gaze and looked back. “Thanks for this.” 

Even his small smile shook and he trained his face forward so she wouldn’t see. “Yeah, no problem.” He cleared his throat painfully and pulled his keys out of his back pocket. “This is me.” 

His ‘68 Mercury Marquis was a long black shadow on the slope. It had been a gift from his father, purchased from a friend from work who was selling for something faster. The day he was gifted it was the only time Mike could remember feeling truly thankful for his father. 

“Nice car,” El murmured appreciatively, circling around the front bumper with a predator’s stride. 

Mike’s cheeks were heated like the summer sun, and he ducked his head to hide the blush even under the cover of darkness. She slid into the passenger side easily, her smile disappearing as she closed the door behind her. He opened his own door and stepped in, unprepared for the confines of his car to be utterly permeated with the smell of her skin and perfume. 

He swallowed a deep lungful of breath as the car roared to life beneath him, vibrating with power. The growl of “Wild Thing” on the radio filled the car. El giggled suddenly and began to move her head in time with the beat. 

Mike bit his lip to keep from smiling and shifted into gear. The drive to Will’s house, just a few miles, felt like an eternity and the blink of an eye. Nothing but the music kept them from complete silence, and though it wasn’t the lack of words that made Mike uncomfortable, it was most certainly her presence. Even she seemed affected, as she rolled her window down. One, two, three, four rotations. 

It was the movie theater all over again, only ten times worse. Mike tore through town, his foot lead on the gas pedal; he tried with every ounce of might in his being to focus on the road whilst simultaneously trying to ignore El’s every movement beside him. The caress of her fingers down her cheekbone as she pushed away loose hair flying in the wind, the shift of her chest against the seatbelt, the way her dress fell around her legs. He channeled his attention like a superpower, not just for the sake of safely driving so they could, well, _live_ , but also so El didn’t catch him staring at her like a drooling pervert. 

He wanted to get on his knees and pray when he pulled into the rocky length of the Byers’ driveway, bouncing and shaking with every glorious rock and pothole. When they came to a slow before the house, Mike summoned the last shred of his courage (and dignity) and offered El a smile. 

But rather than immediately leave, she just mirrored his smile back to him, expectant almost. “Did you like the movie?” she asked. 

Mike blinked, surprised that she was initiating conversation rather than leaving him in the dust. “Uh, yeah. It was alright. W-what about you?” 

El scrunched her nose then frowned. “Not really,” she admitted. “Your friends making out the entire time kinda ruined it.” 

Mike’s laugh came out in a surprised breath. Lucas and Max. They’d been so relentless in their PDA over the years that the rest of the Party had grown used to it. Years of complaints had done little and less to their behavior, and so they had adapted. 

“I’m sorry.” He chuckled, both amused and mortified. “Max and Lucas are kind of gross that way. If you hang around us enough, you’ll become desensitized like the rest of us.” 

El’s lips tilted in a half-grin. “I’m not sure I could ever be desensitized to _that_.” There was a beat of silence between them, and he thought he heard the slightest of sighs. “Well, I should be going now, I’m sure your girlfriend’s waiting to hear from you.” 

“Girlfriend?” He was lost. “What do you mean?” 

“Karen.” El raised her brows, waiting. “When Dustin was teasing you, he said Karen wanted you to go home to check in. I just assumed . . .” 

Mike’s relief was swift, and he snorted. “Karen’s my mom. Dustin’s just an ass and calls her by her first name to mess with me.” 

El’s lips parted, but her eyes showed no surprise or change, almost as if she had expected his answer somehow. “So you don’t have a girlfriend then?” 

Her question struck him like lightning. Mike tried swallowing down the heartbeat that suddenly, violently rattled his teeth like a bag of loose bones. Was she . . . no, she couldn’t be. His imagination was only running amuck. 

“No.” He kept his answer even so as not to reveal the chaos inside. 

For the first time that night, Mike saw something shift in her. A fire that sparked in her gaze. “Oh, I see.” Her tone was innocent, regretful. But it was perfect, as if it were constructed to be perceived as exactly that. And then, briefly, she dropped her eyes to his mouth before looking back up. “That’s a shame.” 

Mike’s jaw fell slack as she pushed open her door and swung it shut behind her. She leaned down briefly, placing her hands on the rim of the open window. “Thanks for the ride, Mike.” And then she was walking away, her form cutting through the darkness like a pale beacon of light. 

Her perfume and parting words lingered heavy and heady in the small space of his car, and made Mike light-headed. He stared in awe after her as she walked up the front porch steps. A ball of something that felt like a mix of nausea and desire burned low in his belly as he watched the hem of her little white dress dance against her bare thighs. Like the entrancing swing of a hypnotist’s pendulum.


	3. Crazy

The room hung heavy with the stench of fish and cigarettes. Porcelain plates clattered like cymbals, punctuated by the metallic scrape of forks and spoons and the tinny jingle of ice against glass. The lighting was dim, romantic almost, a low amber blanket spread across the entire restaurant but for a small shard of blue-white light where the kitchen was tucked away inside a corner. 

“Welcome to The Catch! How many in your party?” The hostess was a cute girl, blonde and cherub-cheeked. She looked young, not even sixteen. 

Hopper’s voice sounded like grinding rocks. “Just three.”

The girl smiled and bent to pull a stack of menus from within her stand. “Right this way.”

Joyce linked her arm around Hopper’s and they followed the hostess, El trailing behind like the smoking comet’s tail. 

The restaurant was bigger than she had expected, the room an expanse of dark booths crowned by swinging golden lights, glossy cherry wood tables with candles burning in their centers, a horseshoe bar wrapped around a wall of colored glass bottles. 

The walls were crowded with fishing paraphernalia and the odd picture here and there. Heavy frayed rope looped in sailor’s knots, canary-yellow and crimson buoys rough with salt, a seine net criss-crossed with blue diamonds that stretched across the length of one wall. There was a framed photo of two men in green waders, each holding up a catch longer than their torsos. Elsewhere hung a picture of a rickety marina whose name was The Tamarac. 

“Here we are,” the hostess chirped above the mangled music of the room. She swept her hand like Vanna White before a circular table in the heart of the restaurant, and when they sat, she set menus framed by faux-leather before them. 

“Your server tonight is Troy, and he will be by soon to take your order. Enjoy!” And then she was gone, a blonde beacon folded into the sea. 

El looked around her. A curtain of fog seemed to wrap around the entire place, creating a film over her vision. It was mostly families that surrounded them, though here and there were the odd couples on a date, sharing hands and smiles across the table. 

That should have been Hopper and Joyce tonight. It was their two-year anniversary, and six months since they’d gotten engaged. They’d come to The Catch in a neighboring town to celebrate for a rare night alone, she was sure. 

But then they’d spotted El alone in the living room, flipping through the final pages of her book. Will had gone to Mike’s house, and it was all she could do to keep her mind reined in as thoughts of her almost-stepbrother’s best friend plagued her like a swarm of locusts. When Joyce and Hop left, she would be alone. 

All it took was one shared look between them, and she was stepping into a flimsy dress and sandals, and they were piling into the Blazer. 

“This is a nice place,” Joyce said, smiling. She opened her menu and frowned. “Expensive though.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Hop murmured, eyes flicking over his own. “This is a special night.”

El’s heart felt a sudden pang. She liked Joyce very much, but she couldn’t help but wonder what her life might have been like had her parents stayed together. They hadn’t been married or even dating really when they’d gotten pregnant, according to her mother’s story; it was just the beginning of something, snipped short by the stress of an unplanned pregnancy. 

They’d gone their separate ways, looking for love a second time around. For her mother, it had taken only one more try to find Brenner, though El shivered to think of any person being in love with that man. For Hop, it had taken several attempts and several failings. 

There was a cynical part of her that had always chafed at the idea of a relationship. At falling for that first person only to have it burn later on, ruined for the sake of a second love that would actually work. It was why she had gone so long without a boyfriend. That, and Brenner’s insistence at puppeteering every aspect of her life. 

Of course, she had had her first (and second) kiss from a boy named Charles, the handsome son of a Wall Street banker. She had even flirted with a handful of boys over the years, those at Brenner’s office parties and the sons of her mother’s society friends. But she had never allowed any to become serious, because she had seen the way first relationships were used as training wheels, life-saving when you’re inexperienced but tossed aside as soon as they’re useless. 

It was always the person that came after, she had learned. By evidence of her mom, her dad, Brenner, Joyce, and a slew of others, it was never your first love with whom you ended up. It was always the _After_. 

“Hello.” The voice was deep, nasally, as if he had spoken through the back of the nose. “My name is Troy and I’ll be your server tonight. Oh! Chief Hopper, Mrs. Byers.” 

El glanced up. The boy was young, likely her age, maybe older. He was tall and broad, clad in black pants and a black collared shirt whose breast pocket was embroidered with the golden hook logo of the restaurant. 

His brown eyes caught on her, like a needle snagging silk. He had small eyes, a wide, flat nose, and the Grinch’s smile. His dark hair wrapped around his head like a cap, curling at the ends. He wasn’t necessarily _unattractive_ , but neither was he cute. An image of Mike flashed up in her mind’s eye in comparison, all soft beauty and long lines. 

Recognition was colored on Hop’s face. “Troy,” he read from the nametag and then looked into the boy’s face. “You’re Michael Harrington’s kid?” Judging from Hop’s tone, that wasn’t a good thing. 

“Yes, sir. I went to school with Will too. We were in the same class.”

“I recognize you from graduation now,” Joyce spoke up. The kindness that was always in her eyes seemed forced now, an artificial type of warmth. “You walked before Dustin.”

Troy smiled then looked at El. “That’s me. Can I start you guys off with some drinks?” he asked, struggling to pull his eyes from her. 

“A beer, whatever you’ve got on tap. In a chilled glass,” Hop said gruffly. He gestured for Joyce to go next. 

She scanned quickly over her menu, and then ordered, “A glass of white wine. It doesn’t matter which.”

Troy scribbled over a pad of paper, then looked back at El. “And you?” His smile stretched wide and thin. 

El stole a quick glance at Hop. “Red wine, please.”

Hopper snorted in amusement, and his eyes glittered. “Yeah, right, kid. Try again.”

El rolled her eyes, but there was a playfulness to it that she had never had with Brenner. “Fine. Just a Cherry Coke then.” She looked back at the waiter. 

“Alright.” Troy slid his pen across the pad. “One _Cherry Coke_ coming right up.” Then his eyes raised, and he winked at her. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

El blinked in shock at his boldness, but when she searched Hop’s and Joyce’s faces for any signs of discomfort or anger, she realized they hadn’t seen. She wondered if he was friends with Mike. 

“Isn’t that the boy who got caught spray-painting the movie theater a few years ago?” Joyce asked moments later, stealing a paranoid look over her shoulder. 

Hop nodded, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a swift flick of his lighter. “Yep. He’s a troublemaker, but not anything too serious. And besides, nothing’s ever stuck. His father is too much of a prick to allow a stain on the Harrington name.”

“Hop!” Joyce hissed. “Language.” Her eyes slid to El and back pointedly. 

“Oh, El?” He chuckled. “She’s heard worse on the F train. Don’t worry about her.”

“I’ve seen a man streaking across Central Park in broad daylight. It’ll take more than the word ‘prick’ to shock me,” El retorted dryly. She remembered he’d seemed more rolls than human, his fat waving like jello as he slipped through the grasp of local authorities. 

“Good lord,” Joyce moaned. “Don’t tell me any more, or I’ll be too scared to let Will go in August.”

Hopper’s smile turned sweet. He reached a hand across the table to grasp one of Joyce’s. Her small ring glinted like silver fire in the low light. “Don’t worry about him, Joyce. Will is going to be just fine. And Jonathan will be there to keep him safe.”

“I hope you’re right.” Joyce sniffed and turned to El. “What about you, El? Are you ready to start college?”

Her eyes fell. Was she ready? She was somewhat excited for the distance of California, though Brenner’s reach was long and her freedom would be limited. He had friends in so many places, so there would always be eyes to dictate which string of hers to pull and which to collapse. Just last night he’d called her to inform her that she would have to move into the dorms a week earlier than planned so she could start her internship with his friend Dr. Owens. 

“I’m excited,” she finally managed. 

“And you’re going into pre-med?” Joyce quickly glanced at Hopper to confirm. “Right?”

Hop answered for her. “Yep. My girl’s going to be a doctor.” And then, quieter, as if he was sharing a secret. “Her mom’s husband—another giant prick—is a neurologist.”

El hid her smile by habit. Brenner didn’t suffer any blows to his reputation, and she imagined the fury on his face if he had heard Hop’s words. The two men had merely. . . _tolerated_ each other for El and her mother’s sakes. They kept their interactions civil when forced to interact, and cool the rest. Hop thought Brenner was a pompous ass, and Brenner saw Hop as some lowly plebeian.

“I used to want to be a writer,” El heard herself say. It felt like admitting it for the first time. “When I was younger.”

Joyce bridged her hands and rested her chin on them. “I think that’s what Will’s friend, Mike, wants to do. Either that or science. Have you met him yet?”

El donned a mask of confusion, but inside her heart was screaming at the mention of its recent obsession. “Is he the one with the really curly hair and a faint lisp?” she asked, intentionally messing up. 

“No, that’s Dustin. He’s a sweet boy too. But Mike is the tall one with black hair.”

“Ohh,” El stretched out the word in faux-realization. “Yes, I met him. He works at the bookstore. He was nice.”

“Smart, too,” Joyce said. 

“More like a smart _ass_ ,” Hop added, ducking when Joyce reached out to swat him. 

“He and Will have been friends since kindergarten. I don’t know what they’re going to do when they have to separate in August.”

El rolled the hem of her skirt between her fingers. “Where’s Mike going?”

“Indiana State. He wanted to stay closer to home.”

Hop chimed in. “God only knows why. His father’s useless, and his mom’s too busy having an affair.”

“Lower your voice,” Joyce commanded in a sharp breath. “You don’t who could be here.”

El frowned. She thought of Mike’s lovely face, but found it impossible to split it into his parents. Was his cheating mother raven-haired like him? Did his father have onyx eyes? She would likely never know. 

A moment later, a tray sliced through her vision. Troy was grinning so wide his teeth showed as he handed Hopper his beer, Joyce her pale wine, and El a tall glass of red-black Coke that looked suspiciously flat. 

“Are you all ready to order?” 

Hopper ordered steak with a reluctant side of vegetables thanks to the collective power of Joyce and El’s nagging, Joyce ordered the fish, and El got a salad. 

“Just a salad?” Troy asked as he wrote on his pad. 

“Yes, thank you,” she answered. 

And then he looked up at her, his eyes dropping ever so slightly. “I can see why you’re so pretty. You must not be from around here.”

The table went quiet, and though the restaurant still boomed with the conversations of patrons around them and the chaos of the kitchen, El’s ears rang as if in silence. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re not from here, are you?” he reiterated, somehow even more boldly. “You don’t look like other girls from Hawkins, and trust me, that’s a compliment.”

El narrowed her eyes, but attempted to maintain her composure, even as Hop’s suspicious glare was amping up, shining red in his eyes. “No, I’m not from here. And . . . thank you. For the compliment.”

Troy smirked. “No problem at all.” He looked at Hopper and Joyce. “I’ll go put your order into the kitchen now.” He left with a swagger that was far out of his league, a gait that was too confident for the face and personality with which it went. 

“What an ass,” Hop muttered darkly, touching his lips to the frosted rim of his glass. 

El quirked her brow in silent agreement, and sipped from her drink. She nearly spit it back out. For a moment she froze, though no one else seemed to notice. Where she had expected bubbling cherries and sweet Coke on her tongue, instead she got the heavy taste of California grapes baking in golden sunshine. 

He’d brought her wine. The waiter—Troy—he’d slipped her red wine in place of cherry Coke, bold as sin, right under everyone’s noses. 

El searched for him across the restaurant floor, though why she was looking she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she were going to thank him, or even confront him. And yet, she looked, spotting half a dozen waiters and waitresses, but none were the Grinch-smiled Troy. 

“What’s wrong?” El twisted back in her seat to find Hopper frowning at her. “Is the Coke flat?” he asked. 

“No.” It was her first instinct. She didn’t know why, but she felt compelled to lie. The waiter was an ass, sure, but she didn’t want to get him fired. Or worse, _arrested_. After all, the Blazer was just outside, ready to eat up its next prisoner and Hopper didn’t take bullshit from teenagers. Especially from drinking ones, which was why Will and his friends had hidden in the woods that day she met Mike for the first time. 

_Please don’t tell your dad_ , Mike had pleaded with her beneath the arc of moonlight and tree limbs. He’d said only a few words to her, and yet he had seemed miles apart from the boy she’d met at the bookstore. Alcohol had made his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed, his tongue loose. She had liked it. 

El thought of the red heat high on his cheekbones when she’d left his car the other night. After he’d admitted he had no girlfriend. She might’ve kissed him right there, out of impulse, had the logical part of her brain not reminded her that this boy was a near-perfect stranger. 

“El?”

El snapped out of her memory. “No. Not flat at all. I was actually just looking for the bathroom.” She pretended to search the room again, twisting this way and that in her chair, and deliberately overlooking the clear red sign that read RESTROOMS. 

“Right there, sweetie.” Joyce pointed to the corner where the sign hung. 

“Oh.” El chuckled breathlessly and slid from her chair. She’d have to play the part, she supposed, for the stupid web she’d weaved. “Well, if you’ll excuse me.” 

She walked away from the table feeling like a dumbass. She was better at controlling her emotions than that, had learned the best poker faces courtesy of her stoic stepfather. But no one would have guessed from the scene back at the table. 

El frowned. She didn’t like being caught off guard. And her very essence had seemed to crumble the moment she crossed into Hawkins. She wasn’t herself, squeezing into skin that didn’t fit her. The only other thing that had openly thrown her was Mike. The cool and collected person she had prided herself on being unraveled like silken thread in his presence. This boy she had seen a grand total of three times. 

In the bathroom, she studied herself in the mirror. Was she just lonely? She’d never been interested in a boy before, aside from the fleeting thoughts of superficial attraction. With Mike, it was something different. And worse. He was pretty alright, but he was cute too, in his innocence. 

Perhaps this was eighteen years of unresolved tension catching up to her in the form of one very attractive boy. 

It wasn’t just his looks though. There was something about Mike that was so fascinating to watch; she felt the urge to _pick_ at him whenever he was around, digging for the water beneath the soil. He was a challenge, and maybe that was what she liked about him. El wasn’t used to obstacles sticking, and when they did, she found a way to overcome them. 

_That’s why_ , she told herself. _He’s a puzzle and I want to put his pieces into place. That’s all._

She could think whatever she wanted to appease her confused mind, but it would never stop her heart from picking up that extra beat whenever she remembered his parted pink lips in the dark of his car. Or the way she had to maneuver through the tension they generated when together like pushing aside a thick curtain. 

El stepped away from the bathroom counter and pushed through the door. The rest of the night passed in a haze, her mind working over her Mike problem like a dog with a bone. While Joyce and Hop spoke of upcoming things like college and their wedding, El thought of him. 

When it was time for the check, Troy leaned over the table to hand Hop the folder, all the while slipping a piece of paper into El’s hand. He winked again when he walked away. 

She didn’t read it until they got into the car to leave, her tucked within the dim backseat of the Blazer. The boy’s name was scrawled in messy blue pen across the top of the scrap of paper. Beneath his name was a seven-digit number and the words “Call me” smeared with dried food. 

El shook her head and stuffed the note between the seats, pushing it down until it was buried. And then she rested her head against the window and let the ride lull her to sleep. 

She awoke to the gentle touch of Joyce. “Wake up, sweetheart. We’re home.”

Walking into the house, she felt like a zombie. She went through the motions of peeling off her dress and pulling on her pajamas, washing her face and brushing her teeth. 

But when she lay down for bed, she found that she could not sleep. Her head was pounding with fatigue, begging her to close her eyes, but she could not. Like pressing into raw gums after a tooth is pulled, her mind went back to Mike. 

Was it the end of the world that she liked him? No. At least she tried to convince herself it was not. It wasn’t as if something was going to come of it; he was just a crush . . . but then again, maybe that was why she had such a hard time justifying the indulgence. 

Her parents’ failed relationships flashed like stop lights, shedding red all over her thoughts. 

El almost didn’t hear the door groan open when Will snuck in at half past midnight. The walls of the house were thin, and every sound echoed. There was no being subtle here. 

She listened to the music of Will’s small feet shuffling through the kitchen, him opening the fridge once and then a second time. He blasted the water in the kitchen sink for a few seconds, and the hallway carpeting muffled his footsteps. 

He had taken Joyce’s car to Mike’s, but El still liked to imagine that shadow-dark Marquis creeping down the rocky drive. She wondered if she would ever sit beside him again, watch his shaggy hair get tousled by the wind. 

She found that she really wanted to. 

El was out of the bed before she could overthink her next step. Flirting with Mike was one thing, but openly allowing her crush to be known to his best friend was another. 

She threw open the door and caught Will flicking off the bathroom light. His wide eyes were startled, big as the moon. “Hey,” he said uncertainly. 

“Do you know when Mike works at the bookstore again?”

Will blinked once, twice, three times. “What?”

El chewed the inside of her mouth. “I need some new books.”

“Oh.” Will fidgeted. “Well the bookstore’s open every day from ten to seven.”

El made her spine steel. “Okay. But I wanted to know when _he_ works. Specifically.”

The silence was painful. Will stared at her as if in shock for a moments, and then his eyes roved. Studying her like a specimen. And then finally, he said, “Mike mentioned he’s working tomorrow. One to close.”

El looked away. “Thanks.” When she raised her eyes, he was still studying her. “Well, night.” She turned and slipped back into the darkness of her bedroom, giddy with the thought of indulging. Just for the summer.


	4. Do You Wanna Touch Me

His skin was burning, warmed by waves of summer heat wafting in from the open double doors. A fat drop of sweat wormed its way down his temple, his cheekbone, his chin, and left a glistening crystalline ribbon where it touched. When the scant breeze found his sweat-soaked shirt, Mike was rewarded by a swift, ice-cold flush. 

The A/C had been broken in the bookstore for two days now. And though the hour was growing late, the warmth of summer did not ease. It seemed somehow worse, as if the blanket of darkness settling over the town trapped the heat like an oven, cooking them from the inside out. 

The fidgeting certainly didn’t help. Every minute that passed, the more anxious Mike grew. It was a half-hour till closing time and she _still_ hadn’t appeared. _El._ Even the name made his guts writhe. 

The phone call he’d received at home that morning had played through his mind all day. 

Will’s voice was muffled through the speaker. “Hey, um, I just thought you should know . . .” He had paused a moment, the line between them crackling with a soft buzz. “El asked me about you last night. About when you were working next.”

Mike’s reply had been only a breath: “Why?”

Mike could almost hear Will’s shrug through the call. “I don’t know. But . . . I told her you were working the closing shift tonight. I hope that’s okay?”

Mike couldn’t stop running his mind over the thought of El asking after him. Was this some sort of game, a trick of some kind? Why had she done that? The last time they’d spoken, she had parted with a coy farewell. _That’s a shame_ , she had said to his confession. _Thanks for the ride, Mike_.

Watching her skirt swinging as she took the steps up the Byers porch that night had followed him into his dreams. He could barely think of anything else since. And now that intensity was compounded by Will’s phone call, and Mike couldn’t think straight. 

It didn’t help that the heat was the dizzying, fever-dream sort where the line that separated fantasy from reality was muddier than usual. He almost expected the books in the store to melt away in a river of colors and puddles of paper, and the shelves to sag like limp shells behind them. 

The gaggle of girls giggling at the cover of an erotic novel only irritated him further. Mike rolled his eyes and twisted his spine until he felt it pop in his lower back. He was running his hand through the hot tangle of his curls when a voice surprised him. 

“Excuse me?”

Mike lifted his eyes. The girl was blonde, pale, pretty; she had a thin mouth and large eyes. She was almost recognizable. “Yeah?”

She held up a book about gardening, glossy and vibrant with lilies and tulips and roses. “Do you have any more copies of this?”

“No.” Mike shook his head in faux regret. “All the stock is on the floor.”

The girl hardly looked disappointed. “That’s fine. Then I’ll get this one.” When she put the book on the counter, it made a sharp slapping noise that caught her friends’ attention for just a moment before they went back to giggling at the scantily-clad damsel in the arms of a man who was more abs than human. 

“Sorry about them,” she said. One side of her mouth was quirked in a half-smile. 

Mike punched in the barcode. “It’s alright. Your total is $10.36.”

She pulled out a ten-dollar bill and a handful of change and piled it into his palm. “Hey, um, aren’t you Nancy Wheeler’s brother?”

“Yep.” He bit back a groan. Nancy was once popular in school to the point that absolutely no one disliked her. But when she and her boyfriend Steve broke up a couple years ago, she’d become a sort of social pariah while he was hailed as a king. Mike couldn’t tell which side the girl would be on. 

“I thought so. I can see the resemblance.” 

Mike narrowed his eyes, his mouth twisting in a grimace. He finally recognized her; she’d been a year above him, a cheerleader. “Thanks, I guess?”

The girl chuckled, showcasing two neat rows of blindingly white teeth. “It’s a compliment. You’ve definitely grown up nicely.”

Mike’s cheeks blazed sunset-red. What in the hell . . .? He ripped off her receipt in a confused daze and stuffed it into a plastic bag with her book. He didn’t know what he would have done or said next had the figure slipping through the entrance not caught his eye. 

El—her wavy hair a wild mane, wearing a thin white tank top trimmed with ivory lace, a fraying denim skirt embellished with patches, and roughed-up Converses that were candy apple red. She went straight to the back of the store and did not look at him. 

Mike fumbled. “Uh, here’s your bag. Thanks for shopping with us. Have a good night.” The words ran together like a runaway train at a dead end. 

The blonde girl was obviously confused, but she uttered a nice, “Bye, Mike Wheeler,” before leading her friends out into the night. He barely noticed them sneaking looks at him over their shoulders as they filed out. 

He checked the time. Ten minutes before closing. She had waited until the very last second to stop by, leaving him to agonize over if and when she would appear all day. But did she know that?

Mike followed after the trail of perfume she had left, a moth to the flame. He might have been embarrassed for his inability to stay still if it weren’t for the curiosity that had burned through him all day. 

He was only into the second row when he spotted her, flipping a book back and forth to scan its covers. She barely afforded him a glance. “Hello,” she said, calm, unaffected, almost disinterested. 

Mike was stunned. Had Will not informed him of El’s questioning, he might have believed her current nonchalance. Her face was schooled with maddening precision. “Do you need help with something?”

El frowned at the book in her hand. “No, I don’t think so.” She slipped it back into its place on the top shelf, her skirt riding up her thighs. She reached for its companion to the left, but struggled. 

Mike gathered his courage. His form hulked over hers as he easily plucked the thick novel from its high perch. “Here.” He handed over the book and stepped back immediately. 

When she smiled, his belly quivered. “Thank you.”

“Sure. No problem.” Mike cleared his throat. “I, uh, have to close the store soon.”

El looked around as if noticing the silence for the first time. She scraped her teeth across the pillow shape of her bottom lip in contemplation. “Define soon.”

Mike knew for a fact the store hours were printed in big, unmissable numbers on the store’s front window. She knew what time they closed. The lie jumped off his tongue: “Two minutes.”

Their eyes met like magnets. “Mind if I wait around while you do?” she asked. 

He swallowed back the panicked response that bubbled up naturally. “Yeah, sure, I guess. If you want.” 

“Okay.” Her smile was a wide slice across her face. She folded her legs beneath her and plopped to the ground, opening the book against her knees. El began to read. Mike supposed he was dismissed. 

He went through his closing duties like usual. Closing and locking the double doors at the front of the store, counting the cash in the register and storing it in the office safe, vacuuming beneath the little tables that lined the back wall, flicking off the lights. 

By the time he was done, it was 7:15. The shop was doused in semi-darkness, lit only by the amber glow of the lampposts outside. Night spread over the town of Hawkins like black velvet. 

Mike marched back to the front of the store to find El atop the cashier’s counter, her long legs crossed at the ankle. Her jean skirt bunched up around her thighs in a way that set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. The book she’d been reading when he left her before was nowhere to be seen. 

“All done?” she asked. Mike nodded and she hopped down, landing light on her feet. He felt her presence at his back as he gathered his keys from beneath the counter before heading toward the doors. 

The air was still suffocatingly hot when he unlocked and pushed through them. It swallowed him like a blanket. He felt the slow drip of sweat forming on his chest. The silence between El and him as he worked on locking the doors was more than enough to make his knees tremble. 

Finally, he could no longer avoid looking at her. Small, quiet, beautiful, searching his face with an almost scary power, as if she could find every secret he kept by merely _looking_. 

“Did you drive here?” he asked, just to fill the space. “Do you need a ride home?”

She pressed her lips together in a hidden smile. “No and no. I walked here, and my dad gets off work in about an hour.”

There was a part—bigger than he would have liked to admit—that hated she wasn’t going to be climbing into his car again tonight. “Oh, cool.” _Cool? What the hell?_ “Yeah, the station’s just a couple blocks away. I can, um, walk you there if you want? Hawkins isn’t a dangerous place, but you can never be too sure, y’know?” He chuckled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. 

El’s eyes followed the line of his raised arm. “I think I’ll be alright. I’ve dealt with worse back at home.”

 _New York_. He’d overheard Joyce talking about El’s mom and stepdad one afternoon, their marvelous apartment in the wild city. He liked to imagine El strutting across the grid of Manhattan, turning every head. If anyone belonged there it was a girl like her. 

His mouth was moving before he could consider his words. “Do you want ice cream?”

El blinked. “Ice cream,” she repeated. 

Mike forged ahead before he could lose his nerve. “Yeah. It’s hot out—like _so fucking hot_ —and you said your dad doesn’t get off work for another hour, and it would really suck to sit at the station with nothing to do for that whole time.”

“Who said I have nothing to do?”

Mike didn’t know what to say to that. He’d only assumed, and wrongly so. Why wouldn’t a pretty girl like El have something to do, even in a new town? And why would she want to waste her tim-

El’s laugh made his brain go blank. “I’m kidding. I don’t have anything to do. Getting ice cream actually sounds great.”

The relief Mike felt was stronger than he was comfortable admitting. He shouldn’t have felt such a lift on his soul hearing her words, and yet his heart was light as if an anchor had been yanked from his ribs. 

His shaking smile surely gave him away, but he found he didn’t care. “It’s only a block this way.” He jerked his head left. 

She stepped closer. “Lead the way.”

Mike’s excitement was a ball in his throat, edging out nearly every dreg of oxygen he inhaled. He focused on his breathing as they walked quietly around the corner, letting his eyes wander across the crumbling brick faces of the local businesses, the lazy fall of the potted plants hanging from the awnings, the glimmer of too-early Fourth of July decorations. He looked everywhere except at her. 

He tried timing his breaths with the seconds that went by. One, pause, two, pause, three . . . However, that made their lonesome trek worse, because the ticking moments reminded Mike that he was potentially ruining any interest El might have had in him, whatever kind that may be. 

Forcing himself to open his mouth was like prying apart the wicked jaws of a bear trap. “Scoops Ahoy is right there,” he said, pointing ahead. 

The little ice cream parlor was a white bungalow-style shop with navy shutters and a white-and-red striped awning. It was surrounded by a dozen rickety picnic tables which were overflowing with patrons. A line curled around the front, their collective buzz rising above the play of music on the speakers. 

“This town really likes its nautical theme,” El noted dryly. At Mike’s confused look, she went on. “The restaurant Hop took us to last night. Smelled like a fish tank and was decorated like one too.” Her giggle was twinkling music. Like Pavlov’s dog, her laughter coaxed a grin out of him that stretched so wide it hurt. 

They latched on to the end of the line, and Mike began to finally notice the eyes that were roving over them. Blue eyes, brown ones, old eyes framed by glasses, young ones smeared with chalky eyeshadow. They focused more on El than him, but it didn’t stop their gazes from shifting to him every once in a while. 

He could almost hear their thoughts, they seemed to think so loudly. _What is he doing with her? She’s way too pretty for him. They must be related. Maybe she feels bad for him._ The insecurities screamed through his head. Ribbons of sweat rolled down his back.

He cut his eyes to El. She seemed blissfully unaware, taking in the large board hung beneath the awning with interest. A thousand letters were plastered across its front, spelling flavors and syrups and sweets. She barely noticed the attention she attracted. Or maybe she was used to that sort of thing. 

The line shortened, but right as Mike stepped forward, a hard body shoved into his left shoulder. He went down to one knee, catching himself with both hands. The rocky ground dug into his palms like knives, their peaks scraping away his skin. 

“Watch out, Frogface.”

Mike’s head snapped up at the words. It wasn’t Troy’s voice; he could recognize that anywhere after years of torment. Instead he made out the hulking form of Troy’s sidekick James. James’ pancake face was twisted in an amused sneer, his blue eyes glittering with malice, before he turned away and melted into the crowd. 

“Are you okay?” El’s small hand wrapped around his elbow softly. She helped pull him up. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said in a small, humiliated voice. He looked down at himself. His palms were raw and red, striped with pale white scrapes, and his jeans were torn open where he had slammed his knee. He fingered the new ragged hole and groaned. “Fuck.” 

“Don’t worry,” El said, bending with him. She casually reached out to brush against the tear. His skin exploded in tingles where it briefly met hers. “It looks cool.”

Mike was unconvinced. “I look like a Greaser.”

El snorted. “Better than a Soc.” Mike glanced up at her and her smile wilted. “Why did that guy push you?”

Mike’s eyes nearly rolled out of his skull. “He’s just such douche who went to my school. That’s all.”

“He called you Frogface. Why?”

The humiliation began to rise anew, hot and boiling. It flooded his body with a steaming mix of anger and mortification. “It’s nothing.”

“Mike.” El stepped closer to catch his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

His mind filled in the rest: _If you don’t trust me to know._ Mike hardly knew this girl, and she definitely inspired some strange feelings of discomfort within him, but the truth was he felt like he could trust her. Or at least he _wanted_ to. 

“It’s a name he and his friend made up in middle school for me.” The words spilled out quickly. “Because they said I looked like a frog.” He took a breath to ease the embarrassment. “Once everyone caught on, they never stopped using it. It’s seen several iterations over the years. Frogboy, Ribbit, Mike the Toad.”

“How creative,” El said, her words dripping with sarcasm. 

Mike snorted. “Yeah, well, they aren’t the smartest bunch. Just needed a way to let me know I’m ugly, I guess.” His bitterness was palpable. 

The line moved forward, but El was anchored. Her eyes had become serious as they tracked every inch of his face. Searching or studying, Mike didn’t know what she was doing. 

Finally, in a tone that was as sure and hard as iron, she said, “You are _not_ ugly, Mike. In fact, you’re far from it. And you can take that from an unbiased outsider.”

He stared in shock at her retreating form as she took the final steps below the awning. They were just one more customer away from the counter now. Her words blared in his head, as if on speakerphone. 

_She’s just trying to be nice_ , he told himself. _She feels bad._ But even his excuses to himself felt hollow when he remembered everything else about her thus far. Her question in the dark of his car after he’d driven her home from the movie, her flimsy _That’s a shame_ , the fact that she had asked Will about his work schedule, her lingering with him after hours. 

He’d never dared to hope like this before. Actually, he’d never had a reason to, not in Hawkins. The girls from his school had seen him graduate from tadpole to Frogface to . . . whatever he was now. 

“Mike.” She captured his attention at once. El was leaning against the counter where a frustrated employee stared holes through him. “It’s our turn.”

He practically ran to her, ignoring the giggles that exploded behind his back. The fluorescent shine of the kitchen bathed her in pure light, catching the wisps of her hair so that they seemed to glow. 

“What do you think I should get?” she asked him. “I was gonna get strawberry, but they’re out.”

The thought of his own usual order made his mouth water. “Do you like blackberries?”

Something odd passed over El’s face, a strange sort of recognition. “Love them actually.”

Mike smiled. “I get blackberry ice cream with their homemade whipped cream.”

El’s eyes widened. “That sounds amazing.” She turned to the huffing cashier. “We’ll take two of those.”

“Cup or cone?” 

Mike spoke up. “Waffle cone.”

The cashier punched at the register numbers with one stiff finger. “That’s $4 even.”

Mike pushed his money across the counter before El could reach for her purse. She sputtered, a rare show of being caught off guard. “Mike, you don’t have to pay for mine.”

Mike took the change and smiled down at her. “ _I_ invited you, didn’t I?”

She followed him to the second window, which was crowded by a thick circle of people. “Let me pay you back then,” she insisted. 

“No need.”

Her bottom lip began to pout. Mike figured El didn’t hear the word “no” very much in her life. “I’ll find some way to repay you,” she promised, as if a threat. 

Mike smiled. His heart was flying. “Is that a challenge?”

He saw the corners of her lips quirk upward. “Maybe.”

While they waited, they talked. About how El was liking Hawkins, about how kind Joyce was, how funny Will could be, the Byers’ dog Chester. 

When they got their cones they found an empty table at the side of the parlor. A stiff puddle of caramel stretched from one slat to the other, and a trio of flies made circles above them. 

El’s tongue swiped across the fluff of cream atop her cone. She moaned. “This is _so good_. I’m glad I listened to you.”

Mike chuckled, but didn’t retort. There was something nagging at his mind, _had been_ nagging at it all damn day. It definitely wasn’t a good idea to confront her about it, would likely bring nothing good with it. But he couldn’t accept a reality where he didn’t know the answer. 

“Why did you ask Will when I was working?”

El froze, her hand poised halfway to her lips. The ice cream was already beginning to melt, a line of pale purple slowly inching its way down the diamond criss-cross of the waffle cone. 

She swallowed. “Will told you.” It was not a question. 

“Yeah.” 

El’s eyes finally dropped, and her teeth pressed into her lip. He imagined it tasted like the cold hint of sugared blueberries. When she looked back up, Mike expected to see uncertainty, or embarrassment even. But he saw neither. Only that cool confidence she always seemed to possess. 

“I’m new in town.” She shrugged and her lip dipped slightly. “And you seem really nice.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t expected an answer so simple. Or maybe he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Is it so bad that I’d want to hang out with you?” Her tone was as alluring as ever, so collected and steady. He envied her that. 

“No,” he admitted. “But you hardly know me.”

El giggled. “I hardly know _anyone_ around here, Mike. So why not you?”

He had no answer, as he always seemed not to in her presence. He breathed out an amazed laugh. “You and Max would get along well.”

“The red-haired girl?” When Mike nodded, El asked, “And why’s that?”

He didn’t even need to consider it. “Well, you’re both bold, direct, sure of yourselves. You don’t seem like you take any shit, no matter who it’s coming from, just like her. And you’re intimidating as all hell, though Max used to be shy and quiet when she first moved here so it took _years_ for her to ask Lucas out.”

El’s eyes glittered like chips of amber as she grinned. “You got all that from a week?” Her brows raised. “I’m impressed. Maybe we know each other better than you think.”

His heart was beating wings inside his ribs. “Did I get anything wrong?”

“No,” she admitted. “But you did miss one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

She licked the junction between her thumb and forefinger where the ice cream had begun to pool. The melted cream disappeared on her tongue. When she looked back up at him, his throat was tight. 

“I’ve never been shy about going after what I want,” she was saying. She had that same intensity in her eyes as she had the night he’d driven her home, the same glimmer that seemed to be explaining some hidden message. His chest was stinging in anticipation. 

She smiled a pirate’s smile, one that could charm treasure from a king. “I’m sure you’ll notice that about me the longer I stick around.”


	5. Jessie’s Girl

The black sky blazed with strobing colored lights that melted into one another in watercolor clouds of crimson, cobalt, and soft marigold. Hop’s Blazer stood steady as a rock in the middle of the road, the sea of cars breaking away before it like crashing waves. From here to the horizon stretched a ribbon of amber headlights, punctuated every so often by an ear-aching honk or skidding tires. 

Hopper wore head-to-toe polyester. His dark green open road hat bore a pack of cowboy killers beneath its band. A cigarette dangled from his lip, bouncing with every gruff order he spoke. When he barked, “This way, _let’s go_ ,” a plume of pale grey smoke danced its way through the air. 

El pulled her bare feet up onto the seat, and shifted closer to the mirror. The low warm glow of the Blazer’s interior lights were hardly what she would call _convenient_ , but they were her only choice. 

She’d been invited to go with Will and his friends to the town fair days ago. But when Max’s Camaro had come roaring down the driveway that evening, El had still been dripping wet from her shower, her body wrapped with a soggy white towel. She’d urged Will and Max to go ahead without her. _I’ll meet you guys there_ , she had promised with no real plan. 

Joyce was working till midnight, and the fair was set on the outskirts of town where the fields were wide and far. Her only choice had been Hopper, and he’d afforded her only enough time to get dressed before they were on their way. 

That left her crouched in the front seat of the Blazer, pulling makeup from where she had haphazardly piled it into the glovebox when Hop hurried her out the door. 

El dipped her finger into a pot of frosty pink eyeshadow and smeared it across her lid. She did the same to the other eye, then rubbed what was left beneath her lower lashes. Eyeliner came next, smudged black and messy around her eyes, and mascara last. 

She bent down and checked her hair in the mirror one last time. Big, lazy curls, pulled away from her face in a half-up, half-down style she had learned from her mother. She touched her finger to a wisp that curled over her temple. 

_I hope he likes it_. The thought of Mike had her heart galloping like a racehorse. She wasn’t used to dictating her choices on the hopes of a boy’s attention, but tonight had been different. Everything she’d done had been foregrounded by the knowledge that she would see Mike tonight. The makeup, the hair, the high-waisted shorts that were cuffed at the tops of her thighs, the red shirt that slipped off one shoulder. 

The butterflies that lived in her belly had been killed and eaten by pterodactyls that ran riot. Her veins thrummed with excitement. 

When she hopped out of the car, Hop studied her face. “You look jittery. Are you high?”

El rolled her eyes, stepping back as he directed a car into the parking lot. “No,” she bit back. “Are you?”

“A little,” Hop joked, grumbling a low _Fuck you_ beneath his breath when the car’s tires kicked up a wave of gravel. 

“I really gotta go now, Dad. I’m already late.” A sick thrill was making its way up her throat. She was ready to disappear into that bright fantasyland across the street. 

“Meet me back here after closing,” he threw over his shoulder, the words floating into the air in a pale, thin cloud. He was working enforcement all night. 

“10-4!” she echoed back. 

El ran across stilled traffic to the opposite side of the road where grass and gravel met. The town fair was situated on a wide expanse of empty field that was crowned by dense forestry, though tonight everything was drowned out by the magnificence of silver-gold lights. Around its perimeter was a hastily-made chain link fence that barred cheap patrons from sneaking in. 

A short, rocky path led to the ticket booth where two older ladies hung halfway out the double windows as they collected money and stamped hands. Behind it was the splendor of the fair, limning the booth in warm gold. 

El snuck in front of two people who were more interested in each other’s tongues than their place in line. She shoved two crumpled dollar bills into the old lady’s paw, and received a cold, wet smear of ink atop her hand. 

“Through the gate to the left,” the woman instructed with a voice like tearing paper. Her long, wrinkled fingers were tipped by blood-red nails. 

El slipped past the booth and through the chained archway, led into the magnificence of the night. She was greeted by a long, withered banner that read Welcome to the Hawkins Town Fair!, shimmying between its two posts. 

People milled everywhere; no space was left pure. The grass held on in certain places, long tufts of thick green blades that were smoothed into submission, but elsewhere it was hard-packed earth laid bare by a thousand feet. A pattern of shoe prints criss-crossed over the ground like lacework. 

The fair itself was a riot of noise and color. No matter where she turned, El was met by fat golden bulbs shining yellow-bright, billowing tents that were striped with rainbow colors, the steep arch of groaning rides, the cheerful bell of a game won and the whine of one lost. 

There was a carousel adorned by an elaborate silver-and-gold crown, boasting a team of enameled horses, unicorns, lions, and tigers reined in by screaming children and their parents. The Scrambler whizzed back and forth in the distance with dizzying speed, marked by squeals of laughter from the passengers within as they were hurtled to and fro. A flimsy hall of mirrors with a looping ramp entrance was painted with crude depictions of green aliens and floating astronauts. 

The Ferris wheel arced above it all, a half-circle that swung with multicolored booths. Its spokes were roped with brights lights so that it shone like a giant sunburst against the night sky. El imagined herself at the top, with the rest of the fair spread out before her like a game board, each person a little piece. 

She made her way into the thick of it all. Her eyes searched out a familiar head of curling black hair or the long fall of red locks. She passed a booth whose back wall was adorned with a hundred stuffed animals, and another whose counter was piled with buckets of cheap candy. 

On her right interchanged little games under tall tents and bright white food stands. The air hung heavy with the smells of roasting meat, fluffy popcorn, melting sugar over crispy, golden dough, spilled beer, walls of distant pine trees. 

A game of ring toss had attracted a small crowd nearby. Its tentcloth was cherry red striped with yellow, and various prizes hung from its frame like Christmas ornaments. People crammed close to watch a boy with coiffed, curly hair who wore an outfit of stonewashed denim. He threw a thick orange ring underhand and missed the mouth of a corner bottle. A collective groan followed. 

Near the back El glimpsed the small form of Will huddled close to Max. Lucas’ arm was thrown around her, but she saw nothing of Mike. Her heart sank like an anchor to the bottom of the sea. 

She made her way over to their group, slinking through a cloud of hairspray and body odor. Will’s smile greeted her first. “El, hey. Did you have a hard time finding us?”

“No. I actually just got here.” She recognized Dustin’s grin beneath the tall crown of his hair as he tossed another ring to no avail. She threw a careless point his way. “Has he gotten any yet?”

Lucas’ laugh was a bark. “No way. He’s on his third try now.” A figure shifted behind him. 

It was as if the sun had suddenly moved into place. Over Lucas’ shoulder, she saw first the mane of messy black hair peeking out from underneath a backwards baseball hat. Then those glossy black eyes, cliffside cheekbones, full lips blushing dark pink. A striped t-shirt that stretched across broad shoulders, khaki shorts, dirty Converses. 

Just looking at him brought back the phantom taste of thick cream and blackberry ice cream. 

Mike smiled a devastating smile, one that stole the breath from her lungs. “El,” he said simply, bringing the straw of his lemonade to his lips. There was a strange confidence to him she hadn’t seen before, replacing the shyness that usually overtook him. 

“Hey.” She wasn’t strong enough to push down the satisfied smirk that slanted across her face. 

“One more round!” Dustin shouted from behind her. 

Lucas and Max groaned in unison. “Come _on_ , Dustin, give it up!” Lucas lunged forward and shackled his palms to Dustin’s shoulders, yanking him away from the jeering carnie. Dustin struggled with all his might, but Lucas was stronger, and in the end he was successfully veered away from the game like a toddler. 

“Son of a bitch hustled me,” Dustin spat when they were far enough away, tucked between a stand of funnel cakes and the arena that housed bumper cars slamming into one another. 

“He’s a carnie, that’s his job,” Max retorted. 

“Can it, Mayfield.” Dustin’s frown was sour. 

Max raised her hands in mock innocence. “Hey, don’t blame me. I’m not the one who wasted ten bucks on the ring toss.”

El let their bickering fade to white noise when Lucas jumped in to mediate. That left El, Will, and Mike to stand in silence together. Though a blanket of noise surrounded them, El felt as if they were alone. Remembering how she had let her guard down in front of Will—inquiring after Mike’s work schedule—made her palms begin to itch. She didn’t like that she had so easily given up a chip in her facade. But what other choice had she had? 

_I could stop this infatuation in its tracks_ , she knew. It stung to consider that, even though she had just met him. Even though she had the entire summer to play. 

El schooled her face in case Will was watching her, but she couldn’t help the way her gaze wandered over to Mike. Their eyes flew away from one another as soon as they met, like northern poles. Her breath came shallow. He looked different tonight, hotter somehow. Maybe it was the lazy slant of his shoulders, or the tendrils that curled from beneath his backwards cap. 

El wished it was just them, like it’d been the other night. A slew of schemes played through her mind, each one leaving her feeling more desperate than the last. 

“You need to get some of this rage out,” Lucas said in a reasonable dad voice. He gently steered Dustin around to where the short line for the bumper cars curved around the metal gate. 

A red car on a wobbly pole suddenly crashed into a blue double-seater in a satisfying _smash_. The light in Dustin’s eyes began to brighten. “Oh, hell yeah,” he breathed. 

El was achingly aware of how close Mike was to her. “What about you?” he asked her suddenly, in a voice too low to be overheard. “Do they even teach people in New York how to drive?”

The teasing lilt in his voice caught her off guard for a moment before she could make her face stone. El arched a brow over a fleeting side-eye. “Are you baiting me?”

“Me?” Mike ducked his head in mock shyness. His cheeks were warmed pink. “No, never.”

El snorted, delighted by him. “You're a conundrum, Mike Wheeler.”

“Should I be flattered or offended by that?”

She cut her eyes to him, drowning in the waves of appeal that just poured off of him. She felt high. “You’re awfully sassy tonight.” She watched his smile grow. 

Mike shook his cup of lemonade at her. “Liquid courage emboldens me.”

El’s weak chuckle was more to cover up the light feeling that swam through her. She liked this Mike. A lot. “Do you mind?” She held her hand out for the cup lazily. 

Where their skin brushed against each other, fireworks burst. “Be my guest.” His lemonade sweat ice-cold puddles into her palm. 

By that point, the batch of riders before them had finally finished. They climbed out of the bumper cars in a congealed mass, laughing and screaming over one another as they clogged up the exit gate. Dustin had burst through the entrance as soon as the carnie allowed him, jumping into a dingy yellow car with a black checkerboard pattern. 

El took a sip from Mike’s cup, and immediately cringed at the bitter flow of vodka and lemons. “Yuck.”

Mike’s eyes were starlight over obsidian. He went to say something, but a gruff voice cut him off. 

“You coming or not, lovebirds?” The carnie sneered at them with a jumble of crooked teeth, one of which was capped with dull gold. 

El watched Mike’s cheeks flame red. The same heat flooded her as well, but she was better at hiding it. She ignored the man as she went past, feeling a strange clunkiness to her bones. She wanted to hope that Mike hadn’t heard that word, but his blush said otherwise. And now the exciting repartee they’d had going had been ruined by a hunchbacked man with a golden tooth. 

A black cloud rumbled where her heart was. She found an empty royal blue bumper car near the back of the arena, emblazoned with the number eleven in white paint. 

She had one leg in when Mike shifted past her to the empty double-seater next to her. “Sure you wouldn’t rather be my co-pilot?” he asked. “You never did say if you knew how to drive.”

The stoniness El usually commanded crumbled like sand before the return of that lilt. Maybe the man _hadn’t_ completely ruined things for her. “Watch me,” she said. 

When the bumper cars buzzed to life, El was rushed by a giddy freedom with which she was unfamiliar. There was something incredibly liberating about swinging the wheel around with wild abandon, smashing into the other cars before springing back to life. 

She heard more than felt herself laugh, a reckless sound that fueled itself. Once or twice Mike managed to catch her by surprise by sneaking behind her, but El had far more hits against him than he did her. By the time the ride was finished, she had hit him eight times to Mike’s measly two. 

The group met outside the exit gate, brimming with laughter. “Shit, I needed that,” Dustin wheezed, wiping the heel of his hand against his glittering temple. “El, you’re a goddamn speed demon. You looked like Elwood Blues out there.”

Lucas barked in sudden laughter. “ _El_ wood Blues. You can officially join the Party with a nickname like that.”

“She got off easy with that one,” Max was saying, but all El could remember was the humiliation twisted in Mike’s features at the ice cream shop, after the hulking boy had called him Frogface. She’d been more worried about his knee and his pride at the time, but now she wondered how in the hell anyone could conjure an insult about that pretty face. 

“Dude, I have to bring Billy’s car home by 10:30. Are we gonna ride some more rides or what?” Max asked. 

They made their rounds of the fair in a clockwise circle. From the bumper cars they huddled near the booth where toy guns were mounted before a backdrop of painted deer and rabbits and squirrels, each one marked by a bullseye. Dustin lost the rest of his coins and begged some more off Mike. 

Then they all piled into the Scrambler; Max, Lucas, and Will in one long seat, and Dustin, El, and Mike in another. The ride swung them from side to side, throwing El’s weight into Mike’s side again and again. The manic laughter tore from her throat without fail, and by the time they stumbled off, her stomach muscles were burning and her throat was hoarse. 

They shot basketballs at a booth where the carnie yelled colorful insults at them from behind a rickety desk. They threw balls at a target, hoping to dunk the burly man suspended over a vat of sloshing blue water. Max won an overstuffed teddy bear with a red ribbon around its neck, and Dustin pouted over the matching Star Wars figurines Will and Lucas won from their own tries at the ring toss. 

And the entire time El and Mike traded glances and smiles, like some private deal made in secret. Brows quirked in teasing arches, half-smiles tilted in flirtation, eyes that lingered a little too long. The spiked lemonade had given Mike matching courage for the night and El’s chest was bursting at the seams. A sick thrill went through her in waves, until she felt as if she were invincible. 

She nearly kissed Max full on the mouth when she suggested a go on the Ferris wheel. “ _Please_.” Max clasped her hands together as if in prayer and looked up at Lucas with a pout dusted with leftover sugar from the funnel cake she’d eaten. 

Lucas wiped a thumb across the corner of her mouth sweetly. “Once. And that’s it.”

El watched their love with curiosity. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such raw affection before. Her mother and Brenner were a cold pairing, she more inclined toward diamonds and he toward science. And Hop had never been the cuddling sort; the most free she had ever seen him was with a thick arm slung across Joyce’s shoulders. 

Max and Lucas kissed each other without care, their hands wound together, before pulling away with an obnoxious _smack_. It was hard to imagine their love dying like everyone else’s. But then again, death never came when love was in full bloom, did it?

The line for the Ferris wheel was practically nonexistent when they arrived. Max and Lucas zipped past the bored worker who waved them into a swinging purple tub-like seat. The lady, whose mole twitched every time she frowned, turned toward the remaining stragglers. 

“Two more,” she called out. She pointed two fingers in a V shape at Dustin and Will, and beckoned them forward. 

El and Mike were alone. Her palms went cold with sweat, and her belly was tingling. She let her eyes slide over to land on Mike’s ivory Chucks, then up the lean muscle of his legs, before settling on his hands where they hung by his side. The blue-green veins formed a map beneath his skin where he clenched his fists. She wondered what was going through his mind, what were his thoughts. If they matched her own. 

The ride groaned as it rotated a quarter turn, then squealed to a stop. An empty gondola swung back and forth like a pendulum, coated in glossy red paint. 

The lady at the gears looked down at them. “You two ridin’ or not?”

El stepped forward. “Yep.” She didn’t look to see if Mike was following her, but she could feel his presence in every notch of her spine. Just being near him made her bones shake. 

El stepped over the platform and slid inside the open miniature door, scooting down as Mike’s came in behind her. He sat across from her, their knees divided by the pole that fastened their gondola to the wheel. 

A scratching gear was pulled and the ride began to shift, shaking them like delicate eggs. El peeked over the side and watched the world shrink below her. The field turned into a blanket and the people into figurines, the booths and rides little toys. 

When they were on top, the ride stilled and their seat went swinging. El giggled, enamored with the warm caress of the night breeze in her hair and the spread of moonlight above. 

Mike was frozen still where he sat, his hands desperately clawing onto the edge of the wraparound seat. At El’s frown, he admitted: “I’m not a fan of heights.”

El couldn’t relate. She’d lived her life amongst skyscrapers, had been at the top of every building in the city. That heart-suspending feeling of being in the sky was like no other. It could not be matched. 

“You didn’t have to ride,” she told him. 

His black eyes darkened further. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

There was something entrancing about the way he looked at her, somehow rough and soft at the same time. His shrug was carefully careless. “No better time to conquer my fears than the present, right?”

The wheel shifted and their descent came slowly. “Right.” El turned her face so he wouldn’t see her smile. 

They went around twice more, and each moment Mike grew more and more bold until finally he was pressed up beside her as they peered over the ledge, watching the world go by. 

His heart-shattering smell clung to her like static, even as they stepped off the ride and found Will and Dustin sharing a bag of popcorn while Lucas and Max leaned together against the gate. 

“The fair closes in half an hour,” Dustin announced through a mouth of soggy, half-popped kernels. “What’s next?”

“I vote for the Circle of Death,” Max put in. The screaming oval coaster stood not far away, soaring up into the sky in a dangerous arch. Its line was more of a crowd than anything, rowdy with teenagers and young kids too short to have any business being there. 

“Yeah, I’m down,” Mike agreed. 

Dustin made a noise of happy surprise. “Shit. If Mike the scaredy-cat’s in, so am I.”

“Fuck you,” Mike murmured as Will agreed on the ride. They all looked to El. 

“I’ll sit this one out.” Its screaming wheels and blurring seats going round and round and upside down were enough to make her guts clench. 

It was Mike who asked, “Are you sure?”

El nodded. The butterflies he’d planted inside her were still flying, and she had no wish to kill them yet. “Yep. I’ll go get a popsicle or something while you guys go.” She vaguely gestured toward the cart that boasted fading pictures of brownies and ice cream and glossy red maraschino cherries. 

“Alright.” Dustin’s hands smacked together in excitement. “Let’s go.” The group walked off with a light springing step, all but Mike who spared El a soft smile that was almost indecipherable. Gone was the gutsy Mike whose mouth and confidence were puckered with vodka and lemonade; in his place was the Mike she’d seen in the dark of his car on the night of the movie, soft and shy with a little streak of naked attraction. 

She didn’t know which one pleased her more. 

El took her sweet time venturing to the ice cream stand, which was crowded with two dozen customers. Crying toddlers and grumpy kids, middle-schoolers who huddled together in cliques, and the odd grandmother who carried away six orders at a time. 

She felt as if she had waited for hours when she finally stepped up to order. Her popsicle was melting before it reached her hand, sticky sky blue syrup dripping down her wrist like slow worms. She set the flat of her tongue against her skin and tried to chase away the blue. 

“Well, well, well . . .” The voice was deep, almost high, as if spoken through pinched nostrils. He sidled up to where El had situated herself on an empty bench a stone's throw away from the Circle of Death. The line had shortened considerably, and the Party was nowhere to be seen. 

The stench of the boy’s—Troy, she remembered he was named—cologne was overwhelming, drowning her in a cloud of musk and sweat. His brown hair was matted down, and his curls were just sprigs that dusted his temples now. He’d had his hair cut. 

“So we meet again.” He smiled his Grinch’s smile. 

El bit off a chunk of her popsicle and let it melt in her mouth. “You were the waiter from dinner the other night.” When he nodded in silence, she awkwardly added, “Alright, well . . . hello?”

His smile stayed plastered where it was. “I didn’t get a chance to catch your name at the restaurant,” Troy said. His eyes were shining in excitement. 

“Is that a statement or a question?”

Troy snorted. “What’s your name?” he asked simply. 

“Eleanor,” El answered. 

His smile pulled back in a grin. “So, _Eleanor_. I never got a call from you. Didn’t you get my note?” 

El kept her mask steady. “I did, but I lost it.” _Shoved it between the back seats of my dad’s police cruiser._

__

“That sucks.” Troy frowned with no real disappointment. “Well, do you have any paper I could write on?”

El’s rope of tolerance grew a bit thinner. “Sorry, nope.”

Troy openly admired her face. “You think you could remember seven digits?”

El shook her head. “Terrible memory,” she lied and bit off another ice-cold bite between her teeth. “Got it from my mom.” She didn’t want to be cruel, didn’t feel like souring her night of fun by imparting acid on this boy. He was annoying, sure, and too thick in the head to take a clue, but he wasn’t really doing anything beyond irritating her. 

She thought she had him beat until Troy’s brown eyes lit up. He dug into his pocket desperately and produced a raggedy pen whose cap was missing. _Aha_ , his eyes seemed to say. 

“Stole it from the ticket counter,” he admitted, as if to brag. “Here.” He reached viper-quick for her hand, laying hot, sweaty palms over her skin. The pen was poised over the blue vein that stretched from her left forefinger. “This way you won’t lose my number again.”

* * *

Mike’s guts were scrambled eggs when he stepped off the Circle of Death. Somewhere behind him he heard the retch of vomit splash to the ground, but he didn’t check to see who it was. Most likely Dustin, who’d insisted on shoving the last of the buttered popcorn in his mouth before getting strapped into the ride. 

Mike held a steadying hand over the flat of his stomach and leaned against the rail outside of the gate. His eyes swept the surroundings, searching for El. She’d said she was going to get a popsicle. He studied the ice cream stand but saw only small children clinging to their tired parents. He tried to convince himself he wasn’t obvious or desperate, but even _he_ wouldn’t buy what he was selling. 

He cast his gaze lazily left and right, the concern beginning to take form low in his gut before he spotted her sitting on a bench nearby, a blue popsicle poised between the full of her lips. And beside her was . . . 

_No_ , he thought to himself, _there is no way in hell._ But the longer Mike stared, the more certain he became. He’d know that face anywhere: the broad, flat nose, the wide mouth, the small, dark eyes, the hair that wrapped around his skull like a squid. 

“What the fuck?” The words left his mouth in disbelief. Mike blinked several times, but the sight never changed. Nausea bubbled like boiling soup inside him. 

He watched Troy and El trade words, Troy leaning close where he was draped next to her on the bench. He couldn’t decide which one to focus on, shifting his gaze back and forth rapidly. When El turned to look into Troy’s eyes, a cold kind of betrayal settled over him. 

Did she know him? Did they know each other? Had they met before, or was this their first time? They didn’t seem necessarily comfortable with one another, but neither did they seem strangers. The ice-cold feeling of betrayal began to thaw out when Mike realized how stupidly, stubbornly, irrationally jealous he was in that moment. 

Max’s braying laughter sounded underwater as she came through the gate with Lucas and Will in tow. Dustin was a slow straggler left behind, pale green and glistening with sweat. 

Mike paid them no attention. He was too busy watching El and Troy, his feelings waging war against each other: anger, jealousy, bitterness, betrayal, disappointment, all of which he was sure were unjustified, but were no less intense for that. 

It was the moment Troy touched her that Mike felt as if he had swallowed his own heart. Troy reached over and took El’s hand, scribbling across the soft of her palm. She never pulled away. 

Mike had seen enough, had had enough jealousy boiling in him to last a lifetime. His chest was stinging painfully. The feeling of losing something that wasn’t even his made the pain burn that much worse. 

“I’m leaving,” he bit out between clenched teeth. He roughly pulled his car keys from his pocket. 

His friends were stunned momentarily. “We still have twenty minutes left though,” Will pointed out. 

“Yeah,” Lucas agreed. 

A restless jitter was making its way up Mike’s legs. He wanted—no _needed_ —to get out of there right that second. “Do you want a ride home or not?” 

Lucas seemed taken aback by the rigid tone of Mike’s words. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Sure, we can go.”

Max stepped in, navigating the choppy waters with caution. “I should take Billy’s car back soon anyway. He’ll have a conniption if I don’t.”

Will was frowning. “What about El?” He looked around. “We can’t leave without telling her.”

Mike couldn’t bring himself to look at the bench again. The ache wasn’t worth it. Her threw a hand in the direction of where he’d watched the person he hated most in this world charm his way into the graces of the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. 

“She’s right there,” Mike said. He ignored the bare confusion all over his friends’ faces, and stiffened up. “Lucas, let’s go.”


	6. Crazy Little Thing Called Love

The rise of their booming voices pulsed through the house like a living heartbeat—staccato, ragged, a motley chorus of pitches and falls. They drowned out even the blinding thoughts buzzing around the hive of Mike’s mind. 

His eyes were stuck overhead, tracing the rough pattern of his popcorn ceiling in an attempt to count to a thousand. He was failing miserably. Each time he reached two or three hundred, a door would slam and the house would rattle like a cage, and the little bird would have lost his brains once more. 

He might have gone insane if it weren’t for the reprieve it granted him. Better, he supposed, than obsessing over her. At least infinitesimally. His parents’ nuclear arguments—nay, _battles_ —were a swift bleach to his thoughts, turning everything black to white. Turning everything bright to bland. 

However, they had met their match in El. Though his thoughts scattered like cockroaches before the symphony of their rage, his mind’s eye was still saturated with the shadow of El’s essence. Honey-gold skin that glittered like sunlight playing on the ripples of water, her sunset eyes sweeping below the creaking Ferris wheel, that squiggly feeling she inspired low in his belly when she smirked. 

Her shade lingered behind each thought, injecting Oz-bold colors in every grey corner. When the cassette tape clicked and Freddie Mercury sang bright and poppy, she was there, bathed in moonlight and cigarette smoke. When the scent of his half-eaten popcorn wafted over, she was there in the passenger seat of his car, smelling of perfume and movie theater butter. 

When the world beyond his window frame bled from aqua to violet, she was there. Always there. For a short, blissful time, his parents had ceased their fighting, his dad squealing down the road and his mom disappearing into the house. 

The afternoon melted into evening, and evening into night. Mike’s bedroom grew dark, the tree branches outside his window throwing shadows upon his walls like monster claws. He flicked his bedside lamp on to fill the room with warm gold. 

The scratch of his pen against paper was soft static. His hand ached fiercely, his joints working around the stinging pain that was buried deep within tissue and muscle and bone. Mike watched the blue-black ink twist itself into fantasies from his mind to his hand to paper, transforming the blank expanse of white into a newly shadowed land where a lithe paladin swung a sword of glowing gold, a hulking cleric wielded a gleaming warhammer, a small bard plucked the silver strings of a lute, a muscled ranger knelt to aim a wooden longbow, and a rogue hid her face beneath the cowl of a velvet hood. 

His pen was weaving a new character alongside the old. A mage draped in robes of red silk and tall boots of black leather, her unlined hands bare of coverings, eyes glowing like amber resin, a golden circlet encrusted with rainbow gemstones hugging the crown of her head. As beautiful as Medea, and cunning as Circe.

Mike imagined one arm outstretched before her, conjuring a ball of hissing fire in the palm of her hand. In the distance lumbered a squat ogre with sagging skin and a heavy brow, and hair like dripping squids. The tongues of her orange-gold flames were nearly ready to engulf the dull monster whole when the house suddenly rattled.

A violent jolt seized through his body. The lock of the front door clicked back into place like the cock of a gun. Mike rolled his eyes, sighing deeply. The clock that hung on his wall showed it was twelve minutes past eight o’clock. _At least they went four hours this time_ , he thought to himself. _New record._

He counted every heavy footstep that sounded through the house, _thud, thud, thud_. Ten steps to the kitchen, silence when he leaned into the open fridge, another eight steps to the living room, and quiet once more as his father draped himself across the La-Z-Boy. 

The click of his mother’s heels was a war song he’d heard a thousand times before. Mike was the shivering soldier who hid from battle, attuned to the snap of every branch and bass of every dropping bomb. He counted her footsteps: seventeen from the door of the master bedroom to the archway between the kitchen and living room. 

And then, the low, unintelligible rumble of his parents’ voices, deep and steady, punctuated by obvious irritation. They were free to conjure up yet another storm. Holly was at a sleepover tonight, and they likely thought Mike was out with his friends rather than pouting in his room. It _was_ summer, after all; why wouldn’t he be out?

Troy’s ugly face was a swimming bullseye in Mike’s mind; his jealousy was sharp as an arrow. His palms began to sweat, and that nauseating cocktail of hurt and embarrassment stained his throat. He wasn’t sure which was worse. 

The night of the fair, Lucas had spent the entire car ride home sending Mike side glances full of confusion. Only the roaring engine filled the silence. Lucas didn’t pluck up the courage to speak until the car was idling in Mike’s driveway, a stone’s throw from Lucas’ own yard. 

“Why are you so pissed?” he asked. 

Mike twisted the keys and the ignition died. They were draped in a silence that weighed on their shoulders like concrete. “I’m not,” he mumbled. 

“You’re a crappy liar is what you are,” Lucas pointed out, snorting. “Come on. You totally blindsided everyone back there. What was that?”

“Nothing.” The only thing Mike could see was Troy grabbing El’s hand. 

Lucas tapped his fingers on the door handle. “Does this maybe have something to do with El?”

The only answer he’d gotten was the tension in Mike’s jaw. The humiliation of his own actions flooded the car, but Mike still boiled at the image of Troy beside of El. His worst enemy, the douche who had tried to make his and his friends’ lives up until this point living hell—and the girl for whom he harbored an almost painful crush. 

“Did she do something to piss you off?” Lucas pressed. “It seemed like you guys were getting along tonight.”

“No,” Mike answered. 

Lucas raised his brows, unconvinced. “Really? ‘Cause you were fine on the Circle of Death. Then as soon as we got off, you wanted to leave and couldn’t even wait for us to tell El.”

“I barely know her,” Mike said between gritted teeth. “How could she have pissed me off?” 

Lucas sighed, irritated. “Whatever, dude. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But we’re supposed to be best friends, and right now you’re being kind of a dick.”

That was four days ago. And although he had made tentative contact with the whole Party since, he knew they were itching for answers. Max was blatant in her curiosity, which further emboldened Dustin’s loud mouth, but Lucas and Will left it blissfully alone, willing to let Mike come to them when the time came. 

Of course he’d broken to Will first. It was just last night; everyone but Will had left for home. He and Mike sat in the basement, quietly watching the television screen. 

Mike had taken a deep breath to bypass his nerves. “Is she mad?”

Will hadn’t needed clarification. “Not sure. I haven’t spoken to her much. She’s been out of the house a lot the past couple days.”

 _With Troy?_ he couldn’t help but wonder with envy. 

“Did she do something to you?” Will ventured with a soft voice. 

“No,” Mike sighed. “Not really.”

“Then what? It definitely seemed like it was her that made you want to leave the fair the other night.”

Mike bit his lip, feeling the roll of scar tissue that had formed where Troy had elbowed him on graduation day. “Is she friends with Troy?” 

Will blinked. The surprise on his face made it clear that that was not what he was expecting. “Troy, as in Harrington?”

Mike nodded. 

“No. I don’t think so. Like . . . I don’t know. Wait, why do you ask?”

Mike stared straight ahead, not seeing anything beyond the mortification that was building inside him. “I saw them talking at the fair. They seemed pretty close.”

Will frowned. “Is . . . that why you wanted to leave early?” When Mike said nothing, Will continued. “Are you jealous?”

Mike grimaced. “No. I’m not jealous. I just hate his fucking guts.”

“Okay,” Will intoned. “So what does that have to do with El?”

“Seriously? He’s a dick, and,” Mike struggled for the words, “and she’s going to be your stepsister one day.”

Will’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “She’s not gonna be _yours_ ,” he pointed out firmly but gently, “so why are you so mad about it?”

Mike was struck silent. Will was right; Mike had no right to be angry over El talking to Troy. She wasn’t his to protect nor worry over, and all he was doing was making an ass of himself in front of his friends. A bloated ball lodged itself in the base of his throat. 

“You know,” Will murmured, soft, “it’s okay to be jealous. It’s okay . . . to like her.”

Mike continued his silence, but Will’s words had stuck with him ever since. In the mornings at the table, in the shower with scalding water running down his back, in his bed as he made fantasies come to life with pen and paper. 

He was still embarrassed at his quasi-tantrum, but he’d come to terms with the fact that he _was_ jealous. And it was because he had a massive crush on El. Which was to be expected since she was the prettiest thing Hawkins, or Mike, had ever had the pleasure of seeing. Or ever would. 

Mike continued to spin his story of the mage and the monster through the rise and fall of his parents’ fight, ignoring it as best he could with thoughts of fantasy and the soft music of Queen playing on cassette. His parents were so loud that when the doorbell rang, they did not stop or even pause. As if they hadn’t heard it at all. 

When the doorbell blared a second time, Mike put down his pen. His mom was screaming now, or maybe crying. He waited for her or his dad to acknowledge the visitor, but neither did. After the doorbell rang for the fourth or fifth time, Mike yelled out, “Door!” But he received no answer, only the same wash of marital discord he’d been listening to all day. 

He shook his head, biting down the irritation that festered inside him. His parents were so wrapped up in their own toxicity these days that not even the sound of their child’s voice or a doorbell at 10 P.M. could shake them. He almost wished they would just get a divorce already, just to put everyone out of their misery. 

The warbled knock on his window jumped his bones out of his skin. Mike twisted to stare into the glass, searching past the golden reflection of his own bedroom to see a face. Heart-shaped, crowned by a ponytail of messy waves. Mike’s lips parted in disbelief. 

El crouched on the slant of roof that jutted out from his second-story window. She knocked once more on his window, impatient. Her voice sounded as if she was underwater: “Let me in.”

Mike threw the blankets off him and went to the window, sliding it up with a whoosh. Her sugar-and-sweat scent struck him dumb as she climbed through the frame. The striped cotton dress she wore hiked up her thighs as she pulled one leg through and then the other. 

Mike and El stood a foot apart, staring right into each other. His mouth moved as he tried to think of what to say, what to ask. Finally, he settled on: “What are you doing?”

El’s brow raised irritably. “I rang the doorbell about ten times, and no one answered.” She shrugged. “So I climbed.”

“Okay,” he stretched out the word, “but what are you doing _here_?”

She took a small breath, her chest rising and falling. “I wanted to talk.”

“You could have called.” 

El’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “I’m not much of a phone person. I prefer to deal with my problems in person.”

“Problem?” Mike’s heartbeat rattled his throat. His palms grew clammy. A bead of sweat slid down his spine. 

El stared at him, almost through him. He’d almost forgotten the intensity of her loveliness, but faced with it here and now, it was burning itself into his brain. 

She said, “You left without saying goodbye.”

There was no question as to what she was referring. It was an elephant between them; they both were aware. 

Mike squeezed his hands into fists. He tried to affect an air of obliviousness. “Oh, did I?” He felt like a dick, but the need to protect himself was stronger than all else at the moment. He didn’t think he could bear crumbling in front of her. 

“I’d ask if I had done something wrong,” El said as she made her way to the middle of the floor, “but I know I haven’t.” She folded her legs beneath her and sat. “Will told me you left angry that night.”

Mike couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “Will said he hasn’t talked to you.” The accusation in his tone was apparent. _Why would he lie to me?_

El quirked a brow, with the kind of smugness from a predator who had caught its prey. “You asked him about me.” It was not a question. 

His heart swam to his throat. “N-no. I mean, well, technically yes. You just happened to come up in conversation.”

“I see.” El looked at him with an intensity that was difficult to match. “So you leaving had nothing to do with me?”

“No,” Mike mumbled. 

Her stare was beginning to make his skin shrink; everything felt too tight. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Mike?”

A door slammed somewhere downstairs. A venomous shout followed. The gravity of the moment shook off like dust. Mike had nearly forgotten the tantrum happening between his mom and dad. 

“Is that your parents?” El asked quietly. 

Mike sighed, rolling his eyes and nodding. “Unfortunately.”

She studied him softly. “Is something wrong with them?”

Mike’s laugh was mean, tinged with bitterness. “Besides the fact that they hate each other’s guts? No.” El’s silence was pregnant with curiosity so he clarified. “They do this all the time.”

Something appeared behind her eyes that he had never seen before. “I’m sorry.” She paused. “How long have they been together?”

Mike blew out a breath. “I don’t even know. Twenty-something years for sure. They were high school sweethearts. Got married right after graduation.”

That something in El’s eyes bloomed. The look on her face was both sad and strangely resigned. As if she had been proven right. But on what, he did not know. 

“Do you think they’ll get a divorce?” she asked in a small voice. 

“Likely,” he answered. “They’ll probably wait as long as they can before they cut the tie though. I don’t think they like to admit failure.”

El nodded. “Happily ever afters don’t exist for a lot of people.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

El threw a vague hand to the floor, indicating downstairs. “Look at your parents. High school sweethearts, they’ve known each other since they were young. And they can’t make it work. My mom and dad never stood a chance. And then you have Joyce and her ex-husband. It just seems like the first time around never works for anyone. Like that first love is just a trial run with which to experiment until you can move on to the real thing. Like training wheels ready to be knocked off so you can be free.”

Mike’s frown deepened. “That’s pretty cynical.”

“You don’t agree?” she challenged. 

“I don’t know.” He knew jack shit about relationships or love, but there was a part within him that wholly disagreed. “It seems like you’re generalizing a bit.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But I’m also basing my theory on personal experience, actual evidence of failure. Honestly, Hop and Joyce is the first real, loving relationship I’ve ever seen between two adults. And it took them years to be together.”

Mike remembered something. “Hey, they knew each other in high school. Hung out. Pretty sure they even had a thing before Lonnie came around.”

“Really?” El quirked a brow. “Huh.”

“Yeah, so sometimes first loves _can_ work out. Even if they have to rediscover each other.”

El ran her teeth over her bottom lip. Her eyes were wandering, though he could tell she was contemplating his words. She set her gaze where his notebook lay open. “What are you doing there?”

Mike stood up jerkily and went over to retrieve his notebook, folding it closed. There was no way on earth he would ever let her see what he was writing, the girl he was creating. “Nothing. Just random notes.”

El seemed unconvinced, but she dropped it. She climbed to her feet and walked around the perimeter of his bedroom, letting her fingertips linger over the length of his dresser where pictures of the Party at a middle school dance were framed. She softly touched the base of his Yoda figurine and moved on. 

His bookshelf was messily packed with books every which way, horizontal and diagonal and vertical, however they would fit. She bent to read the titles, every so often stroking one with reverence. He remembered the first time he saw her in the bookstore, struck dumb by her beauty and his desire. 

“Hey!” She knelt and plucked a paperback that was veined with worn lines. The title flashed like a red flag before a bull. She held it up, the cover between them. “We have the same book.”

 _LUST_. He’d bought it right after she had left that first day, so curious as to what the pretty girl was reading. A pathetic sense of shame filled him, but Mike tried to play it off with coolness. “Oh yeah, I’ve had that for a while.”

El nodded. “Did you like it?”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek. “Haven’t had a chance to read it yet.” That was a lie; his eyes had scanned the soul-crushing scenes of love and heartbreak and desire, and afterward his heart had felt strangely heavy. As if it would never be light again. 

“You should.” El half-smiled, one corner of her mouth slanting up. “You’ll like it.”

El put the book back in its place and continued to study his shelves, pulling out books now and then, flipping through their pages, and then returning them. When she got to the bottom, she gasped in excitement. She pulled a thin, glossy black book from a shelf and cracked it open. 

It wasn’t until she was searching its pages that Mike realized what it was: a yearbook. He grabbed for it in embarrassment, but El twisted from his reach. She tsked. “No, sir. I _need_ to see a young Michael Wheeler in middle school.”

“I look stupid,” he mumbled. He was pretty sure he had a bowl-cut in seventh grade, though his mom argued otherwise. 

“Aw, there’s Dustin.” El giggled. “Wow. His hair has always been big.”

Mike cracked a smile. “It has,” he admitted.

“Hey.” El was staring down at the book with a frown, her brows furrowed. “I know him.” She twisted the book toward Mike with one finger placed firmly beneath a black and white photo of none other than Troy Harrington. 

The anger of that night began to flood through him once more. Where before he’d been swimming with longing and thrill, now they were mixing with the feeling of jealousy and betrayal. Like oil and water. 

“Oh?” He couldn’t bring himself to say more. 

“Yeah. He was my waiter at dinner last week.” She glanced up at Mike. “Remember that nautical restaurant I told you about? The one that smelled like a fish tank.”

“Yep.”

“Are you guys friends?” The tone of her voice was careful, as if she was testing him. 

The bite in Mike’s voice was sharp. “Hell no.”

El’s brows raised. “Well, good. He’s kind of a douche.”

Mike’s heart stuttered. _Wait, what?_ He swallowed back the exhilaration that was pulsing through him. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s just slimy.” She was still flipping through the yearbook, ignorant to the manic enthusiasm likely evident in Mike’s eyes. “He blatantly flirted with me in front of my dad, which is just gross. He slipped me his number after dinner, but I shoved it in the backseat of Hop’s Blazer.” She giggled. 

“Is that why you guys were talking at the fair?”

El’s eyes cut to him sharply, boring through his with eagle-like intensity. “You saw us?”

Mike realized his mistake all at once, bombarded with the pain of his own fuck-up. “Uh, yeah, but just for a second. Max was trying to find you, so I helped her look.”

El’s eyes narrowed. “Why was Max looking for me?”

Mike tried his damndest to keep his face smooth. “I dunno. Didn’t ask.” He cleared his throat, praying to move on. “So why were you and Troy talking at the fair?” His casual tone came out more choked than cool. 

El had stopped staring at him now, but he recognized the obvious skepticism still there in her gaze. She had caught on to him, no doubt. “He was pestering me about why I didn’t call. Wanted me to go on a date with him. Apparently the fact that I ‘lost’ his number the first time didn’t ring an alarm in his mind.”

“To be fair,” Mike offered, “Troy’s not very bright.”

El snorted. The all-knowing glint was still there. “I figured that.” She let the silence stretch between them for several moments before continuing. “It’s too bad you left early that night. I could have used a savior.”

“From Troy’s advances?”

El nodded. 

“What, not your type?” His heart was racing, galloping like a warhorse. Even his hands were beginning to shake. 

“Definitely not,” she replied, chuckling as if in disbelief. 

His curiosity was eating away at him. “Oh? Then what is?”

El’s face was bent down as she flipped through his yearbook, but her small smile was unmistakable. “I’m still figuring that out,” she admitted, glancing up. “But it’s not him.”

 _Bang_. The house rattled around him. The metallic jiggle of a locked door handle sounded from somewhere downstairs, and then a shouted curse. 

“Should you go down there?” El asked worriedly. 

Mike shook his head. “No. They’ll tire themselves out. They do every time.”

El looked unconvinced. “Will they be okay?”

“They’ll be fine. They’ll probably even make up soon. Definitely before the Fourth of July.”

“What’s the Fourth of July?” she asked. “Besides the obvious.”

Mike sighed. “We host a party here every year on the Fourth. It’s a neighborhood thing, but the entire town basically comes. We have food and dancing and fireworks. My parents love to put on a show.”

“Oh.”

The courage tonight had mustered within him was growing stronger. “You should come.”

Their eyes held on to one another like magnets. She asked, “Why?”

He swallowed. _Be bold._. “Because I want you to.”

El ducked her chin but he saw her secret smile. “I’ll consider it,” she said, but _Yes_ was written all over her face. She glanced at his clock and took a deep breath. “I need to get going. It’s late.”

“Do you need a ride home?” _Please say yes_. 

“No. I drove Joyce’s car.” She stepped up to the window and pushed it open. 

“Alright. Well, be extra safe going home. I’ve seen the way you drive a bumper car.”

El arched one brow. “And I’ve seen the way you shake like a leaf at the top of a Ferris wheel. Don’t make me push you out of this window.”

Mike laughed. “Okay, okay. But really. Be safe driving home.”

She smiled. “I will.” She set one foot on the windowsill. 

“And thanks for coming,” he added. “Tonight. It was nice hanging out. We should . . . do it again soon.”

“Definitely.” Her smile was brilliant, but the way her dress fell away from her thighs was fighting for his attention. “Yeah.”

Mike bit the inside of his lip to prevent his grin from taking over his face. “Anytime then.”

“It’s a date.” She stepped through the window frame, and for a brief second he caught a flash of where the top of her thigh met the curve of her ass. He thought he might die. When she was on the roof, she turned back to say one last thing. “Just leave the light on for me, Mike Wheeler.”

Then she was gone, slipping into the darkness, the scratch of her tennis shoes on the shingles of the roof. A sliding sound, muted footsteps. He saw her figure streak across the plain of his front yard, her striped dress jumping around her body, and he thought, _That is the girl of my dreams._


	7. More Than a Feeling

Karen Wheeler was a vision. Her golden hair was coiffed into a perfect bouffant, her nails were lacquered red, and she floated through the throngs of her party guests in a crisp white tea dress. With every step, the navy heels she wore sunk a little bit further into the grass, caking them with earth. 

Mike took a bold swig from the liquor bottle that sat open on the kitchen counter and passed it to Lucas. The kitchen was an absolute riot: platters and plates and dishes of food covered every available surface, napkins fluttered like wings when the back door opened and shut, plastic cups lay forgotten and sticky, crumbs were scattered across the linoleum floor. 

“This is getting painful,” Max groaned. Mike looked through the back window once again. If Jennifer Hayes was a planet, then Dustin was her moon, orbiting around her but never making contact. Her father worked with Mike’s dad, and so she’d been forced to come. 

“Five bucks says he’ll chicken out within the next minute and come back to the kitchen,” Lucas guessed. He reached across the counter and speared a dill pickle with a tiny fork, dripping green juice over a sheet of crumpled tinfoil. 

“Ten dollars says it’s thirty seconds,” Mike offered. 

They watched for another twenty-three seconds before Dustin stopped, huffed, his whole body slumping with the sigh, and slunk back to the kitchen like a beaten dog. 

Mike made a noise of happy surprise. “The Palace is on you next time.” He slapped Lucas’ shoulder, who grimaced through his loss. 

When Dustin slipped through the door, he came straight to the bottle. The muscles of his throat worked as he threw back the liquor. After he was done, he swiped his hand across his mouth. “I bailed.”

Max snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

Dustin frowned. “Hey, fuck off. I was _gonna_ talk to her, but she was with her dad and I didn’t want to be weird.”

“Weird _er_ , you mean?” Max asked. 

Dustin threw a middle finger up. 

Mike laughed. “Don’t feel bad, Dustin. It took Max three years to summon the courage to even smile at Lucas. You aren’t the only chicken here.”

“Don’t bring me down with Last Minute Larry,” Max sniped, her frown mean. “And you don’t have much room to talk, Wheeler.”

Mike blinked in surprise. “Me? What the hell do I have to do with anything?”

Max chuckled, Lucas snickered behind his palm, and even Dustin rolled his eyes. “Oh, _please_. You can’t pull the trigger even when the bullseye is practically right in front of you.”

At Mike’s look of utter confusion, Lucas butted in. “Dude. El.”

Mike’s heart jumped. “El? What about her?”

“You’re an absolute idiot,” Max said around a laugh. 

“You stare after her with puppy dog eyes every time she’s around,” Lucas clarified, looking surprisingly sympathetic for once in his life, “and can’t even recognize that she’s giving you hints back that she’s interested too.”

Mike ducked his head to hide the ruby stain spreading across his cheeks, warm and fast. “No,” he said, hoping they would let it go, hoping they would continue. 

“Yes,” Dustin said lazily. He dipped his hand into a wide bowl of potato chips and came out with a fistful. He shoved them all in his mouth at once, and said around the mess of greasy yellow mush, “She was totally flirting with you that night at the fair. And you _still_ freaked out and left because of her.”

“What? No, I didn’t,” Mike said quickly. His face was an oven, cooking his shame from the inside out. 

Max made a rude noise of disbelief while Dustin continued, his mouth full and his words garbled. “Yes, you did. I dunno _why_ , but you did. And it was _so stupid_ , because she was clearly giving you every sign that she was into you, and you managed to miss every one of them.”

The silence that draped over the kitchen between them then was an uncomfortable sort he’d never felt around his friends before. The type where they were in on the secret and Mike was an outsider. But he dared not give himself hope that they were right. 

Then again . . . El _had_ climbed up to his window just to, what, clear the air? Had El disliked him, she would have let his weird, jealous behavior go. But she hadn’t. She’d forced her way in front of him and melted his hard shell with her beauty and bite. 

He wanted to believe his friends so badly. _So badly_. But if they were wrong, he wasn’t sure he could ever face her again. And that didn’t seem like a viable option either, at least for his heart. 

The back door swung open with a soft creak. The sound of the music playing outside became unmuffled, like bursting through the water’s surface after drowning. Mike’s mother slipped through with a platter empty of everything but crumbs and leftover toothpicks, her white dress swishing around her shins. 

As she set the dish down to reload it with tiny sausages, she said, almost offhandedly, “Chief Hopper’s daughter is just so gorgeous. Who would have thought?”

Mike glanced up, his heart stopping for a moment. “W-what?”

His mother met his eyes briefly, smiling. “El, I think her name is. She and Chief Hopper arrived just a few minutes ago. Surely you’ve met her? She’s at Joyce’s house for the summer.”

“Oh, we’ve met her,” Max said slyly, grinning. 

His mother was oblivious to the undercurrent of mockery in the room. “Right. Well, she’s such a beautiful girl. She’s the talk of the party already.” She picked up the now-full platter and eyed a second one with mini barbecue sandwiches. “Honey, will you grab that one and bring it outside for me?”

Mike’s willingness to do _anything_ since he’d heard El was here had gone up a thousand percent. “Sure.” He rushed to the plate, ignoring the amused faces of his friends, and followed his mother out the door. 

The backyard was unrecognizable. It was teeming with people, some he recognized, some he didn’t—teachers from Hawkins Middle and Hawkins High, stiff-lipped men who worked at his dad’s firm and the snotty wives who hung off their arms, girls and guys from school that came with their parents, ladies from his mother’s book club. 

Holly’s swingset had been moved up against the back fence, but it didn’t stop her and a few other children from climbing up it like a mountain. The weeping willow tree at the back right corner of the yard was hanging with streamers through its limbs. Picnic tables draped in starry tablecloths lined the fenced perimeter, and they were littered with half-eaten food and stacked cups. 

He spotted Hopper in a group of women he recognized from the Hawkins’ PTA. They were chattering excitedly, hands waving, eyes wide and bright. Not at the chief, but at the girl beside him. 

She wore a baby pink slip dress and red lipstick. The jean jacket thrown over her shoulders was too big for her, rolled up at the cuffs several times, and distressed to the point that he could see the frayed white thread through its holes. 

The tan calves he obsessed over were half-hidden by a soft pair of Doc Martens, laced up to the middle of her shins. She looked like the kind of girl a rockstar would swoon over, the kind you’d see rolling on the hood of a Jaguar in a Whitesnake video. 

When Mike finally pulled his eyes from her body, he found El already staring back. She held his eyes when she caught them, quirking her brow only the slightest bit. He set the platter down on the first level surface he could find. 

Bewitched, his legs moved of their own accord to bring him right to her. And Hopper and the ladies. 

“Oh, Michael!” Mrs. Hayes gushed, reaching out to grasp his chin. “I was telling your mother earlier, you’ve gotten so handsome.”

“So tall,” another woman chimed in, appraising him like cattle. “I bet you’ll be even taller than your father.” Mike already looked down at his dad, had for at least nine months now, but he said nothing. 

Mrs. Hayes spoke again. “I always told my Jennifer that she should date a nice boy like you.”

Inexplicably, his eyes strayed to El. She was still watching him, still unashamed. He envied her that. That confidence. 

“I tell El the same thing,” Hopper joined in, flashing a wicked smile at his daughter, as if he were poking some secret. “That she should go for a nice boy, that is.”

One of the women gasped. “You don’t have a boyfriend, dear? Oh, but you’re so beautiful, how could you not?” The other ladies nodded in agreement. 

El smiled kindly, though Mike detected the irritation beneath it. “I’m concentrated on school, and I suppose I have high standards, and I wouldn’t want to settle.”

The comment seemed to shake Mrs. Hayes to her core. It was common knowledge around town that she and her husband were a pairing of convenience rather than love or attraction, seen together only for reputational occasions and appearance’s sake. 

Hop swung an arm over El’s shoulder, squeezing her affectionately as a way to dispel the tension. “My girl has too many exciting things coming up to worry about that kind of stuff. And besides,” he quirked his brow, “better not to get caught up in that high school heartbreak.”

Mrs. Hayes tsked. “Actually, I-”

Hop suddenly pushed his empty bottle into the slope of Mike’s ribs, half-knocking a surprised breath out of him. He gave Mike a concentrated look and said, “Would you mind getting me another beer, Wheeler?”

 _Actually I would_. Mike frowned. What did he look like, a butler? He had some snappy retort on his tongue when El spoke. “I’ll get you one, Dad.” She looked at Mike. “Show me the way?”

Mike felt very fucking grateful all of a sudden, for the slowness of his tongue and the gluttony of Hopper’s. “Yeah, definitely. C’mon on.”

His legs were much longer than hers, but El managed to fix herself at his side. They walked through the backyard and toward the house with their shoulders rubbing and arms brushing up against one another, shockwaves of pleasure rolling through him. 

For the first time, perhaps ever in his life, people were staring at him. At them, him and El. He glanced sideways at her to gauge her reaction, but she was either unaware or unperturbed by the attention, her face calm. People probably looked at her like this all the time. 

Mike, though, felt drunk on it. _So this is what it feels like_ , he thought, _to be envied._ He wondered what they looked like side by side, if people thought they were together. He liked to imagine they did, just to live vicariously through their assumptions. 

Emboldened by their eyes and the swig of alcohol he’d taken earlier, Mike placed his fingertips against the edges of El’s spine when he ushered her through the door to the kitchen. His friends were nowhere to be found and the room was empty of people. 

“The beers are in the fridge,” Mike said softly. 

El nodded and shed her jacket, draping it over a stool. She made no move toward the fridge. Instead, she dumped the empty bottle into the trash can with a screeching clank, and hoisted herself up on the only clear piece of countertop available. 

Her legs swung back and forth, but where others would seem childish, it only made her more appealing. El leaned back until her spine found a cabinet. The slopes of her shoulders gleamed caramel tan in the faded kitchen sunlight. 

“You look really pretty,” Mike blurted out. 

A smile spread over the red shade of her mouth. The red lipstick she wore made her lips seem fuller, and he really, really wanted to kiss her. “As do you,” she said. 

Mike’s heart jumped, but he tried to hide his pleasure with a playful grimace. “Pretty? Boys aren’t supposed to be pretty, they’re supposed to be, I don’t know, buff and handsome, or something.”

El lifted a brow in amusement. “I’m not particularly into ‘buff and handsome or something.’”

“Oh?” Mike tried his best to fake nonchalance, to openly flirt with her the way he so desperately wanted to. He didn’t want to be shy, sometimes mouthy Luke; he wanted Han Solo’s swagger and charm. “Finally figuring out your type then? Y’know, aside from lame douchebags who hit on you in front of your dad.”

“Hitting on me in front of my dad wouldn’t have been a problem if it had been someone else.” El met his eyes lazily and shrugged, maddeningly cool. “But yes, I am figuring it out. Little by little.”

Mike swallowed. Was this a hint, was this a sign? “Let me know if you figure it out,” he told her, dropping his eyes as he swiped a random piece of candy from a bowl. He threw the wrapper back into the bowl and stuck the cherry lollipop in his mouth. “I can try to set you up.”

“Like a matchmaker?”

He lifted one shoulder, his jaws tingling. “Sure.”

El chuckled, and Mike had never felt such a sickening thrill from playing a game ever before. “Thanks, but I like to keep things like that between me and the other person.”

Mike raised his hands in mock defeat. “I’ll stay out of your love life then.”

El was staring at him again, in that boring, piercing, penetrating way of hers. That gaze was _heavy_. Her voice was soft, but edged with something rough. “Now, I didn’t say anything about _that_.”

 _This is it_ , Mike thought with wonder. The thrill had made its way into his throat. _We’re flirting. It’s happening. Holy sh-_ ”

Will suddenly appeared around the corner, and Mike had never before wanted to renounce their friendship, but now seemed like a perfect time. “Oh,” Will gasped. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

Mike hid his disappointment away like winter clothes in May. “What’re you doing in here?” He was sure his tone was ruder than it had ever been toward Will before. 

Will held up a piece of paper that was vibrant with shapes and colors. “Left my latest drawing in the basement, and I wanted to show Mr. Kowalski.” Kowalski was the art teacher from Hawkins High and a notorious pain in Mike’s untalented ass. He was currently outside mingling with some of the other teachers from the school. 

“Cool,” Mike offered lamely. _Can you get out now?_

Will’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you guys doing in here?”

Mike heard the sound of the fridge open. “Getting my dad a beer,” El said casually before slipping out the door without a backward glance. 

Mike groaned his frustration out loud. When he looked up, Will was grinning. “You wouldn’t be, I don’t know, _agitated_ or something, would you, Mike?”

Mike’s stomach rocked like a ship at stormy seas. “Nope. Perfectly un-agitated here.”

Will nodded his head, clearly skeptical. “Do you like her?”

“No,” Mike bit out grumpily. “I mean, I like her as a friend. She’s cool.”

“And pretty,” Will offered innocently. 

Mike huffed out a sigh. “Alright, Flowers in the Attic, let’s get back to the party now.”

As he pushed open the back door, he heard Will laughing behind him, his words riding the waves of his amusement. “Technically we’re not related by blood. But don’t worry, she’s missing a certain something I prefer in my love interests.”

Mike snorted. “Thanks for dropping out of the race.”

Will’s eyes sparkling brown. “Thought you didn’t like her.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

The afternoon aged pink and gold, and was streaked with watercolor clouds until it melted into a dreamy violet twilight; darkness spread quickly, as if spilled from an inkpot. There was a feverish quality to the air—maybe from all the booze consumed or the blanket of pure excitement lain over them all. 

Or maybe it was the way she and Mike kept making eye contact from wherever they stood, despite whatever they were doing. It didn’t matter if they were pressed side by side to play a game with his friends, or if they were apart, their eyes always found each other. Over the curling peak of Dustin’s hair, across a table, a foot away. 

No matter what, their eyes kept drifting back to each other. El found it both painfully fascinating and terribly intimate. Like having a conversation with no words. It made her want to be closer to him, it made her want to touch his skin. 

The night had only served to make Mike bolder. Bolder than perhaps he’d ever been. When she failed at horseshoes, he was there to mould her fingers the correct way. When she was hungry, he led her to numerous tables despite her knowing her way. He spoke to her and laughed, and once when he’d sabotaged Dustin’s game, he’d sent her a shy, conspiratorial wink. 

Her soul was floating on severed strings. 

Until she saw her. El was listening to Max and Will’s hopes for the future, for college, for relationships. She listened half-intent, her eyes always straying back to that tall form and messy black hair. He’d been standing with Lucas until Lucas left for the kitchen. With Mike alone, she was about to go bask in his presence. 

Someone else, it seemed, was under the same spellbinding urge. A blonde girl, skinny, a little petite, wearing red short shorts and a white tank top. She flipped her long, flaxen hair and smiled up at Mike. 

El’s belly soured. She wasn’t jealous per se, but she knew she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it when recognition sparked in Mike’s eyes, nor when the girl moved a little closer, nor when she placed a steadying hand on Mike’s forearm as she giggled at something he said. 

El absentmindedly placed the rim of her root beer bottle at her mouth, keeping it there but not drinking. She studied them instead, almost in a sick fascination. Mike’s sense of discomfort, but a kind that was less wary and more nervous. The girl’s brazenness, as if there were a history there, superficial or not. 

El watched Mike run one hand through his hair, mesmerized. And then he glanced up, and El didn't look away. If anything, her gaze grew heavier. She stared into the black spots of his eyes like a hunter who’d caught the movement of their prey through the weeds. 

Mike looked down, and his flush was visible even from where she stood. He chanced a shy look at her when he began to walk away, seemingly startled to find her still locked onto him. The blonde girl followed behind, a comet’s tail. 

El tracked his steps across the yard, toward the house where the radio sat silent. His fingers twisted at the knobs and it came back to life. The fairy lights strung up in scallops along the roof’s edge bathed Mike in a cast of soft golden light. 

El knew she wanted him. Both herself and the blonde girl. And El had always had a mean competitive streak. 

She finally took her eyes off Mike and glanced around the yard. In one corner was a massive willow tree whose fluttering limbs spread wide and domed, like the embrace of a lover’s arms. Through the veil of its branches, she could see that its trunk was wrapped in red and blue paper streamers and, overtop those, strings of golden fairy lights.

El found herself entranced by it. Back at home, in the courtyard of their apartment building, there had been a weeping willow where El had liked to run to with her thoughts. Its trunk had kept so many of her secrets. The day it was cut down, a little piece of her heart died, she was sure. 

She waded through the darkness and pushed aside its drooping branches like curtains. They brushed softly against her when they closed again, a private cocoon. The fairy lights were golden warm, transporting her to some other world. The party was only a stone’s throw away, but she might as well have been somewhere, anywhere else. 

When Mike appeared through the heavy green veil only moments later, El had to put her bottle to her lips to hide her smile. _Yes_ , she thought. “Hey,” she said. 

Mike touched the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “What’re you doing back here?”

El raised her brows. “Is this a forbidden corner?”

“No.” Mike smiled with uncertainty. “But the party’s out there.”

“I just needed some quiet.” Because sometimes tumbling back inside her head felt better than anything else. Because she couldn’t stand that someone else had had Mike’s attention, and she wanted him to follow her. 

Instead of offering to leave her to the quiet, Mike stayed rooted in place. “Have you been having fun so far?”

She nodded. “I have. Your parents are really nice.” At Mike’s sarcastic brow quirk, she continued. “If I hadn’t heard it with my own two ears, I could never believe they were the same people screaming in your kitchen only a few nights ago.” That was a lie; yes, she could. 

“They’re very good actors,” Mike said. He seemed to consider something. “Makes you wonder where they’d be if they cared half as much about each other as they did about their reputation.”

“It’s sad,” El offered. “That someone you love can turn into someone you hate. Or worse, a stranger.”

Mike blew out an edged laugh that was all thorns. “Well, they can't blame anyone but themselves. They didn’t try, and now they’re too far gone to make it right again.”

El frowned. She knew she harbored her cynicism, but even that seemed like an oversimplification. “I’m sure there’s more to it than just _trying_. I’m sure there are tons of factors that make a love like that go away.”

Mike was shaking his head, unconsciously moving forward. She pressed her back against the trunk of the tree; the fairy lights burned hot into her spine. 

“No,” he said. “I think if you want something enough, you can always have it.”

Her heart jumped. “I’m not sure that’s how the real world works all the time,” she muttered, taking a swig of root beer just to have something to do. 

“I think it can if you want it to be,” Mike countered. He glanced up at her and smiled for the first time since ducking beneath the willow tree. His skin was ivory and gold. 

She couldn’t help herself then. “Who was that blonde girl?”

Mike blinked, shifted, shuffling one foot forward. Closer. “Who? Oh. Her. Just a girl who went to my high school.”

“She was cute.” _I didn’t like the way she looked at you._

Mike narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. He dug the toe of his shoe into the ground and stepped a little closer, just a foot away from where El was pressed against the tree. “Yeah, I guess.”

El stared at the ground. She wasn’t sure what game she was playing, but she knew it was drawing him closer. “What’s her name?” she asked. 

“I don’t know.”

El stared at the scuff on Mike’s shoe as it shifted ever closer. The silence fell around them with electricity crackling through. _So this is what desire feels like_ , she thought to herself as her entire body began to buzz. 

And then suddenly he was in her space. Not touching her, but nearly there, moving so slowly, so quietly. His mundane movements masked the way he came closer; a breath turned into an inch forward, a head tilt brought his chin right beside her temple. 

El raised her eyes just enough to look at the rose petal flush of his full lips _right there_. His face was slanting toward her maddeningly slow, and El found herself turning to meet him. Mike sighed deeply, and it made his bottom lip brush against the top of her mouth so, so feather light, barely there. 

The fairy lights were burning into her back, and the night was humid, and Mike’s body was radiating heat. Her skin felt slick with sweat, and her heart was pounding. All she needed to do was raise her chin and they’d be there. 

But of course life didn’t always work out the way you wanted it to. The first firework popped in the sky bright and loud, like a gunshot, making them jump a few inches away from each other in shock. She could have sighed, screamed, groaned, grabbed him back. But she didn’t. 

Because she would never forget his face in that moment—no matter how many years went by. It would be carved into her mind’s eye, and she’d see it everywhere. Parted cherry lips that were a bit too full to be considered sweet, tousled hair that made her think of messy bedsheets, blown-wide eyes that were blacker than sin, and skin that was bathed in the most magnificent rose gold light. 

She felt her heart sigh. _Devastatingly beautiful._


End file.
